The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Saturday, October 12, 2019

valorous idylls chapter 6

Come Back Doctor Zachary Smith From Lost In Space All Is Forgiven.

6.35pm. Movement in fingers and wrist. If I'm in shock it's lessening. Handwriting has improved. Damage primarily at elbow. Starting to hope it might not be broken. Come on Raphael. Do your thing. Have offered pain for X. So even if I'm not in shock, I'm clearly mad as a brush. Yoke, yoke.

9.30pm. Arm not flexible. Okay at shoulder. Hand tending to go numb. I suppose I'll have to cut off the jumper to get a better look at it. Will use a scissors and cut up front of jumper with other arm. Some comfort in arm if I let it hang limp. Some comfort if I place it gingerly on my knee while moaning softly "oh the pain, oh the pain." I do believe there is a throbbing in my lower back region. This is a symptom I'm not encouraging at all.

Friday, October 11, 2019

valorous idylls chapter5

Ramblings.

The old wisdom.
Pride comes before a fall.
Today I don't think it's that.
The perspective regarding pride can lead to errors and misunderstandings with our creator.
The creator of the universe isn't beating us with a stick.
He's not kicking us while we're down.
People fall all the time.
Much worse falls than mine.
We don't go around judging each other as sinful every time we fall.
Sometimes in our hearts we may know pride or another sin explains an awful lot.
This time it doesn't seem to me that God is saying that I'm too proud.
I do get an intimation that the pain I've wished on my enemies in asking him to smite them, is something like what I'm feeling now.
I get an intimation that God feels for all of us.
It hurts him as much when they suffer as when I suffer.
This understanding is something I regard as coming from God.
With a little effort I can believe he is already turning to the good my fall.
He didn't cause me to fall.
But since I've fallen, he's showing me a few things.
The fall was an attack by evil.
I've no doubt about that.
And there are all sorts of reasons for falls.
Pride or sinfulness can indeed be one.
More usually, carelessness.
Or bad luck.
Slippery ground.
New shoes that don't have much grip.
Also if you take a step closer to God in life, the forces of darkness may run a little pass defence just for the hell of it.
I've heard a few people say that.
Hey.
For some reason I'm not saying "why me oh Lord!"
I'd have expected myself to at least blame God a little bit.
And what was my guardian angel doing?
Was it his day off?
Maybe the guardian angel did more than I know.
I went down like a ton of bricks but I didn't hit my head.
I usually want a free pass from suffering and look for it, and moan if I don't get it.
The cosmic battle is real.
We are in a war zone.
No one escapes the cross.
The royal one walked all the way to Calvary.
So my mind weighs the situation.

Thursday, October 10, 2019

valorous idylls chapter 4

Looking After Business

Here's how to walk.
You tell your legs to move one step at a time in an orderly fashion and you tell the rest of you to go with them and to stop that wobbling.
I remember this.
Yes we're doing it.
Back at the house.
Clear the decks.
Look after immediate business.
Postpone everything else.
Use right arm to feed the animals.
Nifty eh.
Interesting new skill doing it one handed.
Now phone neighbours.
Neutral warning about possibility of icy spot on the avenue.
No mention of giant crows.
There might be some frost there.
I went down so quick.
It was late afternoon.
There could have been some lingering frost in the shadowy patches.
It wouldn't do to hear later on that a few others had falls.
So the call is made.
Animals fed. Neighbours warned. Anything else?
Bring in clothes drying on the clothesline.
I wobble outside the back door and make a few half hearted passes at the clothesline.
Comical enough.
I can almost hear the Benny Hill theme playing.
This can't be a priority.
Back to the kitchen without the clothes.
Make a one handed cup of tea.
Sit.
Now come on Archangel Raphael this would be a great time for you to do your miraculous healing thing.
Come on old pal.
Let's see what you've got.

Wednesday, October 09, 2019

valorous idylls chapter 3

Clement Weathers.

Gentle breeze on the avenue.
Pain localising.
Thought processes clearing.
That's some pain right there.
Over on the left still not great.
Around the back not as bad.
The rest okay.
Right hand side really good.
Legs fine.
Optimism.
I've had a half hour on the ground.
And hey, it's not raining.
Time to get up.
Let's see. The legs will move.
Very good.
Leaning over to the right.
Nice and slow.
The right arm works.
Doing exactly what it's told to do.
Up on my elbow.
There you go.
Pancho you'll have to get down.
Thank you.
Now we just ease our way into a sitting position.
And the legs do their job.
I'm standing.
Wobbling.
But standing.
Steady enough.
We'll walk when we feel like it.
No hurry.
I look up.
The thing is still on the tree.
As I stand and look at it, it rises from the branch.
There is a mocking indifference to the motion.
The words are not heard but felt.
"Now you're ours."
It wheels about and flies away,

Tuesday, October 08, 2019

valorous idylls chapter 2

Priorities.

Lying on the ground.
The pain tending towards the left.
The crunching sound as I landed can't have meant anything good.
Maybe it was the ground crunching rather than a bit of me.
Now what.
Disinclined to try standing.
It's a nice level clear stretch of the avenue.
I'd have to be unlucky for someone to drive over me.
No hurry.
Let's see if I can roll over onto the side that hurts less than this side.
Yes I can.
Ah.
There's the doggies.
The sheepdog sitting quietly.
Pancho looking a bit perturbed which is a Jack Russell talent, all frowns and big eyes. 
"It's okay dogs, you didn't do anything wrong."
Pancho climbs up onto my leg and sits.
"Ah Pancho, you'll ruin the new trousers," I groan.
Mild realisation and I smile.
The trousers are fast losing their place of prime importance in the order of my universe.

Monday, October 07, 2019

valorous idylls chapter 1

Legends Of The Fall

Early afternoon.
Lovely bright fresh clear day.
I step out with the dogs onto the avenue.
A certain optimism pervades.
Haircut, new shoes and new pair of trousers from Mr Dunnes Stores excellent emporium, also a new shirt someone gave me and a rather nifty jumper which, though not new, whenever I'm wearing it, seems to impute the notion that all is right with the world.
Now for a walk with the hounds.
Later I'll drive to the charity shop and leave off some donations or awful Heelers hand me downs as the homeless call them. My car is already loaded ready for the trip.
All is indeed right with the world.
The sheepdog forges ahead.
The Jack Russell is at my side.
I round the bend in the avenue.
On the high branch of a tree straight ahead of me a large crow sits.
The crow is the size of a man.
I estimate he is at least five feet tall.
I stop and gaze.
I'm thinking: Theoretically what I'm seeing now is impossible.
Still I'm looking.
Reviewing the situation calmly.
Checking my senses.
Measuring what can be measured from the ground.
Okay.
Just because it's impossible I'm not going to assume it's evil.
I decide to tell it to praise God.
The exact words I am going to use are "Hellelujah big bird."
I raise my hands.
Before I can say anything, it is as though I am stricken.
My feel go from under me.
I fall to the ground like a ton of bricks.

Sunday, October 06, 2019

synchronicities

Marilyn Vos Savant was frequently described in the Guinness Book Of Records as the world's most intelligent woman.
Her Intelligence Quotient rating had been variously assessed, once coming in at 228 and another time at 188.
These figures were considered impressive by people who believe intelligence can be measured by such things.
In 1990 Marilyn was hosting a letters column in Parade Magazine.
The column was called Ask Marilyn.
Readers could write in with challenges, enquiries, problems, or puzzles.
In September of that year she received and published a letter positing a conundrum based on a television game show format.
In the game show a contestant must choose between three large boxes.
One box contains a Ferrari.
Each of the other boxes contains a goat.
If the contestant picks the box containing the Ferrari, he can keep it.
But he gets a chance to change his mind.
The format of the show requires the contestant to make his choice, and, when he has made it, one box with a goat in it is removed from the remaining two boxes.
The contestant is now allowed to stand by his first choice or to switch to the other remaining box.
What should he do?
Marilyn answered in her Parade column that the contestant should change his box when given the chance.
Consternation ensured.
It became the most controversial answer in the history of her column.
After weeks of often furious feedback, Marilyn stood by her answer.
Still the controversy went on.
Paul Eidos, who was considered by some to be the leading mathematician of the twentieth century, was particularly outraged at Marilyn's conclusion.
In fact her remained outraged up until the moment the problem was trialled through one of the most powerful main frame computers in America, and the data spooling from the computer overwhelming confirmed Marilyn's analysis.
Cut to the kitchen at the Chateau de Healy.
My aged father is filling out a Lottery ticket which he completes for a weekly national competition with prizes in the millions.
I am suggesting to him that there might be ways to improve the odds of winning a given draw without simply buying more tickets.
My brothers Businessman Tom and Doctor Barn are talking to each other about cars.
The Dad and I are engrossed in our speculations.
"The gambler cannot control any variable in a regular lottery," quoth I to the Dad. "Except one. He can do the same numbers every week. If you do the same numbers every week, you have controlled a variable. Your numbers no longer vary. And if those numbers come up, you will win the Lottery. That is the only way you can improve your chances."
Tom and Barn look up sharpish.
"Whaaaaaat?" roars Tom.
"You don't think it would make a difference?" says I innocently.
"It would make no difference at all," interjects Doctor Barn.
"But you've tied down a variable that otherwise might change," says I.
"Wah, ha, ha, ha, ha," says Tom knowledgeably.
"Haaa, haaa, haaaaaaaaaaa," adds Barn by way of affirmation.
"You really think I know nothing about anything, both of you," I muse with quiet dignity.
"No," corrected Tom, "I think you know nothing about the law of probability."
"I know it isn't a law," sez I mysteriously.
"Waaaaaaaaaah, ha, ha, ha," from Tom.
"Oh Lordy." from Barn.
"You see James," says Tom, "the numbers don't know what numbers you did last week."
There was something vaguely offensive in his manner.
"The law of probability is a human perspective," I tell him, "a way of looking at things, a notional inductive form of reasoning, a what if which has no intrinsic definitive actual truth."
The brothers become briefly incapable of speech.
They seem to be flummoxed, on the brink of tears and paralysed with laughter all at the same time.
When they regain control they turn to the Dad.
The dust has settled.
The kitchen is quiet.
"What do you think Daddy?" enquires Tom.
The Dad begins: "Now Tom you must admit..."
Before he can say anything further the two brothers have exploded into renewed gales of laughter.
"He agrees with James," chortles Tom.
Doctor Barn wipes a teary eye.
"A man of your academic accomplishments," he says to the Dad, "it's incredible."
His tone is admonitory but the words are spoken more in sorrow than in anger.
This happened years ago of course.
When all the world was young, lad.
And all the grass was green.
And every goose a swan lad.
And every poet had an IQ around 233.
You've got to feel for me and Marilyn Vos Savant gentle readers.
Life can be hard on the special ones.

a brief but helpful guide to the gaelers

A political party styled Fine Gael (meaning We The Irish) currently governs the Republic of Ireland.
Its polity may be summed up by a simple enumeration of current stances on three main issues.

(1) Ireland's appalling suicide rate. Official statistics show between 500 and 700 suicides annually and are believed to significantly understate the real number. Fine Gael proposes to deal with the matter by abolishing the concept of suicide. A coroner conducting an investigation into someone's death will no longer be permitted to give a finding of suicide. Hey presto. No more suicide. That's Gaelerism.

(2) Ireland's enslavement to IRA mafia and Muslim clan gang supplied drugs and the takeover of Ireland's towns, villages and cities by the IRA and an estimated 130 associated international mafias. Fine Gael is proposing to legalise drug use. Overnight drug crime will drop to zero because Fine Gael have decided that poisoning men, women and children with drugs is no longer a crime. That's Gaelerism.

(3) The bankruptcy of Ireland's IRA controlled Stalinist State broadcaster RTE. Fine Gael is proposing to impose a poll tax on Irish citizens to force them to finance RTE with payments to be made annually. So even if you disapprove of RTE's bigoted anti Catholic pro IRA agendas, you still have to finance them. That's Gaelerism.