Gardening – Zombies and a bit of Faith for Easter Sunday…

Gardening – Zombies and a bit of Faith for Easter Sunday…

It all started on Friday. Good Friday was different when I was a kid. Back then Easter was a period of almost excessive catholic zeal. I saw through the BS and knew that it was really about the chocolate, but the masses processions and symbolism just couldn’t be avoided. Nowadays it is just a chocolate marketing exercise and all the fun has gone out of it.

Anyhoo, this year I had a last minute epiphany to take Good Friday off. Given that Monday is a bank holiday I was giving myself a four day weekend. What could possibly go wrong? Truth be told I’m a bit of an asshole at times, so long story short, here I am typing at my laptop – very slowly at 7.30 in the morning, doing my best to tell you my story.

Now one could take the aforementioned view that I’m an asshole, or given the religious season that’s in it one could just blame God on the whole thing. You see on Friday I had a chance to have a much needed extra day of rest; however… the sun finally came out. Now if you’re not Irish, you might not get the significance of that but if you are, you will know that that means you have to make hay while the sun shines. It might not be here tomorrow or for another month or indeed this afternoon, no matter what the weatherman ‘thinks’ he knows.

Long story short, I’m up and in my shorts before you can say Benidorm and once suitably attired, I went out to our garden. Finally, I could do a bit of what I like to call ‘tipping around.’ Unfortunately, I don’t have first or second gears. Within the hour I had tangled with the bramble from hell which has taken hold in our hawthorn trees. For the non-gardening fraternity that is, I decided to untangle the second thorniest plant in the world from the thorniest tree in the world, whilst up a latter wearing shorts and a t-shirt. In fairness I did put on gloves.

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Now of all my decrepitudes, my old back tops the list. I long since stopped moaning about it, but it gives me hell on a good day to put it mildly. Still I can either get the fup on with life with a bit of auld pain or curl up and die. I chose to get on with it. Getting on with it meant that I needed help from what I like to call the ‘Zombie slayer 2000.’ I wouldn’t ask too many questions but needless to say, come the zombie apocalypse, along with my unnecessary (she says) excess of axes, the zombie slayer 2000 will prove to be perhaps the best investment mankind or indeed I have ever made.

The advantages of this zombie slaying piece of ingenuity, are ironically the disadvantages of the self-same tool when one has a bad back and is up a ladder leaning backwards at full stretch. You see, this ingenious weapon, or gardening tool (for now) also boasts an extendible pole – (I’m telling – you they are missing the whole zombie apocalypse marketing angle) – but given that if is metal, the damn thing is heavy. Good for slaying zombies, bad for leaning back atop a ladder with a bad back.

So… yesterday I wake up and try to make it to the bathroom. I’m a cripple I swear – God is punishing me for working on Good Friday. I swear I will sit down all day and relax and let myself recover. Two hours later I’m shredding through the first proper spring clean of the garden this year only this time at ground level. What? The sun was shining; I put on shorts and wellos!

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So the day gets on, I am officially crippled and it’s time for us to go out dancing… As you do. Well technically it was a George Michael tribute act but hey… I’m always going to end up dancing with my nimble footed darling Jo. That’s a given. That’s Holy Saturday shot and given the hour we got home, we’d stolen a bit of Easter Sunday too.

Of course I wake up this morning and the sun is still there. It has been a balmy sunny weekend so far and I should have put my feet up and sat in a sun lounger in the garden sipping on a few glasses of Sangiovese. But I never listen to reason. I’d finished typing this much by eight a.m. I feel like someone has run over my body with a bus. Jo just reminded me that I was giving it socks on the dancefloor last night and my body just looked at me with a shake of its head and a dirty looking ‘ I told you so’ expression. I know I should know better but what you going to do?

Just because I’ve a dodgy ticker, knees that hate me, fupped up ankles, the back of a one hundred and ten year old builder’s labourer and a pair of shoulders that call me names behind my back, doesn’t mean I’m going to curl up and die.

I just looked at my arms. My lovely arms (well I like them) are torn to shreds from hawthorn and bramble thorns. I look like I was in a fight with a tiger. If anyone asks I’m going to say that I volunteer at an endangered owl sanctuary at the weekends, teaching orphaned baby owls to fly. They are a bit clawey and scratchy but hey; someone has to protect the planet…No…a bit too much perhaps…

Anyway, things were different when I was a nipper. It was all about God back in the day. Well God and chocolate anyway. Today, well… the worlds gone to hell in a handcart. I’m not religious but I do miss the days when we all took a little more time out at this time of the year. So today I guess I’ll do the same. God hates me anyway, he is punishing me for fluting around in the garden all weekend and for strutting my stuff to… ca-chink-a chink-a-chink-a-chink… But if he’s up there he’ll forgive me for weaponizing garden tools and dancing on a holy day… well you gotta’ have faith…

Haven’t read a Max Power book yet? I think it’s time to pick one up.
Max Power’s books include, Darkly Wood, Darkly Wood II The woman who never wore shoes, Larry Flynn, Bad Blood and Little Big Boy
You can find more details about Max Power’s books here : –
http://www.amazon.com/author/maxpower
https://maxpowerbooks.wordpress.com
fhttp://facebook.com/maxpowerbooks
twitter @maxpowerbooks1
Universal book links
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood-II
http://getbook.at/Little-Big-Boy
http://getbook.at/Larry-Flynn
http://getbook.at/Bad-Blood

all-5

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Setting the monster free…

Setting the monster free…

Old sins cast long shadows. We drag the sins of our past behind us like a leaking, globulous mass of festering pain, across the rough terrain of our journey through life. Some bridges need burning, others should be left intact so we can find our way back to the important stuff if needed. It is in the choosing, that we often set ourselves up for disappointment.

Of course past things never quite seem to stay where we put them. It’s not uncommon to forget where we are going and instead get distracted by nostalgia, to find ourselves heading back across the bridges we have left uncharred, only to discover that all is not what it once seemed.

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I think perhaps, we are all capable of allowing the veil of personal history, distort the reality of what we have left behind us. It’s more than a veil. Time is like a hotel cleaner. You wake up, toss aside the covers, finish off the half bottle of water from the night before, spill your coffee, because no one uses saucers anymore, leave your wet towel on the floor, and head out about your day. When you return the room is magically back to how you remembered it, at its best.

We Photoshop our story as we go. We create our own powerful image in contrast to what I was thought in school. We were told that God created man in his own image, when in truth we create ourselves in the image of God. We are never that perfect, but we tinker with the truth to bring us nearer to the best image we can imagine of ourselves, and yet sometimes that still comes up short and therein lays life’s great disappointments. There is nothing that should disappoint us. We are only ever really and truly disappointed in ourselves. What anyone else thinks of us, is really none of our business.

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The world it seems has become worse. I watch from a vantage point, increasingly distant from the centre of things as I get older. In vanity and hubris we lose our way. I have never been just a spectator in life. In many ways I have been fortunate to have the emotional energy to have gone after the things I wanted in life. None of the good in my life has come easily to me, and yet I have so much that I can call good in my life. I can only carry the burden I collect along the way. Outside of that I remain a curious spectator.

There is no secret to being happy. You simply have to figure out who you are – and then do it on purpose. We are all empowered to be who we truly want to be. You only give up your power, when you don’t think that you have any.

When I was a small child I couldn’t swim. My dad used to throw me into the water at the beach, to make me man-up a little I guess, but it only served to terrify me even more. I would sit by the seaside refusing to strip to my swimming togs. I wouldn’t even take off my shoes, for I knew he wouldn’t throw me in to the water fully clothed. That was quite a stress for a little waif like me. To add insult to injury, I was made fun of for being such a chicken by everyone else.

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My solution? I went to the local swimming pool and over the course of a week, all by my lonesome, I thought myself how to swim among the dive-bombing wildlings who made it almost impossible. I stood in the shallowest end of the pool, one pace from the bar at the edge and made a lunge at the bar. It took me two days to lunge from 2 paces away and at first it seemed I would never make it. I genuinely thought I might drown and constantly checked for the life guard, who never seemed to even notice me. By the time I had made it 4 paces from the edge, I believed in my heart that the floundering, desperate, panicked splashing I engaged in, must have looked to others like an olympian gliding gracefully through the water, and that inspired me to take one step further from the edge.

The day I swam a full width of the pool, I was 10 feet tall. I remember the smile on my face for it was so broad it hurt my cheeks and I felt it. But there was no one there to see my victory. It mattered, but that was just the way of it. I chose to take my private success and run with it any way.

My other great fear was that of the dark. I was still a tiny little scut and my mother understood. She always left some glow of light for me to feel a little more secure, but I hated that fear. I applied my learning to swim lesson and without saying a word to anyone, I would go out to the hall in the dark and leave the landing light off. Stage one was akin to taking one step back from the edge of the pool and I walked half way up the stairs to the landing, very slowly, deliberately forcing myself to face the fear.

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I was so afraid let me tell you, but once I hit the half-way point, I would turn my back on the monsters at the top of the stairs and slowly walk back down to the hall without looking back. Once there I would turn and stare the monsters down before turning on the light to check that I was right. There was no monster at the top of the stairs.

Eventually I made it to the top in complete darkness and ultimately to my room and bed. Getting undressed in the dark was terribly unnerving for a small boy waiting for the hand to come out from under my bed and grab me. In a way, I met the monster under my bed. I met him and set him free, for all the monsters I have ever known, have only been inside of me.

Fear is the beast that constrains. Looking back over our shoulders is and exercise in futility. Whatever we think is chasing us will only keep up the chase as along as we encourage it. Close your eyes in the dark to make the darkness go away or open them and embrace your strength to do so.

My problem is my melancholy soul. I should have been a blues singer. Despite my own advice, I don’t burn the bridges I cross; I just keep concentrating on the road ahead of me. I am not tempted by the sirens calling from behind, calling me back to wallow in darker times. Occasionally, I will sit by my river banks and look back from whence I came. I take pictures of the good times and leave the bad times to look after themselves.

My soul means I will always have sad steps to fill, I have learned to live with that, but just like I was when I was that skinny little fledgling, barely heavy enough to hold my footing on a windy day, I know what I must do. On those days when sadness is my monster, I take a step back, turn out the lights and take my leap of faith…

Haven’t read a Max Power book yet?  I think it’s time to pick one up.
Max Power’s books include, Darkly Wood, Darkly Wood II The woman who never wore shoes, Larry Flynn, Bad Blood and Little Big Boy
You can find more details about Max Power’s books here : –
http://www.amazon.com/author/maxpower
https://maxpowerbooks.wordpress.com
fhttp://facebook.com/maxpowerbooks
twitter @maxpowerbooks1

Universal book links
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood-II
http://getbook.at/Little-Big-Boy
http://getbook.at/Larry-Flynn
http://getbook.at/Bad-Blood

 

Blessed by the best of it…

Blessed by the best of it…

It dawned on me today, that I mark the passing of time in a much different way than I did as a kid. In some ways, I guess it should be obvious, but the notion settled on me as I brushed my teeth so I thought I might share.

It all began a few weeks ago really. I know I have to cut the ogre that is a hedge at the front of our house and while at the best of times it is a daunting challenge, this year it is even more so. It makes me feel old. Last year I tore my shoulder in the process. Don’t ask, the hedge is so deep it requires me to stand on a ladder holding an extendable hedge trimmer which even then doesn’t reach all the way across.

The upshot was an over stretch and a rip to my poor shoulder and of course, I kept going.  I did so much damage that even now a year on, I still haven’t got full rotation in my left shoulder. It is so bad that I missed the autumn trim, so to say a trim is overdue would be an understatement. Of course it’s that time of the year again and while I have many faults, one of my strengths is that I am a determined fecker. This means I cannot resist the urge to cut the bejaybus out of that hedge. Capable or not, it has to be done.

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Now when I was a nipper, at this time of the year I wasn’t thinking about mundane sh**e like hedges. I was focussing on Easter eggs. Nothing else mattered; we are coming into chocolate season. Once Christmas was over, the dark thoughts of surviving the return trip to school were always elevated somewhat, by the fact that St Patrick’s day was in March and Easter would follow close behind the great Saint’s day.

Now there was the little matter of lent to be managed but even that 6 weeks of deprivation had an upside. We had in typical Irish fashion, wangled a temporary reprieve to break our fast on St Patrick’s day. That was something to look forward to and while we weren’t overly fond of any extra, non-essential Mass, the zealous Christian brothers scored an own goal each lent, insisting as they did, that we traipse up the road to church every morning. On the one hand it was a pain in the arse, but on the flip side, it was an hour and a half including the walk there and back, wasted from our school day…woo-hoo!

Then Easter arrived – chocolate eggs until we puked, weeks of looking at the growing stash of colourful boxes dropped off by our aunties, just sitting there on the side-board. There were carefully planned, egg burglaries in the days and weeks that led to Easter. We would open boxes, peel back the foil, pull apart the two egg halves, slide out a sweet or two, and then put the whole thing back together as if it never happened. You’d never do your own egg unless you were desperate, usually in my case; I raided my sister’s stash. Ssssssh… I was never there..

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Easter gave way to the thoughts of summer break from school and we counted every lousy day until we were free. Each glorious summer’s day of freedom was a gallop through the fields as we chased injuns, or a re-enactment of whatever war movie we had seen last. Knees high in the long grass or belly crawling through a neighbours nettle patch, it didn’t matter. Summer set us free and we were loate to let a moment of daylight pass indoors.

But life is life and the shadow of those men in black began to loom large long before September arrived. Back to school with only one thought in our heads – Halloween. Then it would be Christmas and on the cycle of life went and we tick-tocked it’s measure by finding meaning in something to look forward to.

Oh how things have changed. My new seasons are the task that sits most immediately in front of me. Right now, it is the garden and the work that sits staring at me each day. While it is often a pleasure, the creaks and clanks of my aging bones whisper to me. “Bo@@ix to that, leave it until your shoulder is better” but I know I can’t.

As a child I counted the days to free my mind from the awfulness of those parts of my childhood, I long to forget. When time distanced me from the worst of it, I clung to the memories of the best of it. The eternal optimist, I survived the bad bits to revel in the glory of the best bits. I evolved, revolved in my head and turned away from all that might scare me, mar me, or leave me a victim. Growing stronger takes much longer than one might think.

Blessed by the best of it, evolved by the worst of it, I grew from a wildling waif, galloping bare-kneed through the grass, into an older, wiser beast. My energy is not yet deceased. Now I no longer count the days, for I have found happiness in the moments that I collect as I go.

I am still a relatively young man, but it appears that as you cross certain milestones, some other nuisance of a bodily bother, tugs at your elbow and say, “Whoa there chief, slow it down a bit, you’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful.”

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At first I tried to ignore that particular voice. I’m every bit as fit and agile as I was when I was sixteen. At least that was the lie I told myself and if I’m honest, it took a long time for me to admit that maybe I might be … perhaps I was a little bit… well ok. Now I look at the options and I say to myself, “Pay someone to do that, you’re getting too old and you’ll be fecked for a week if you do it yourself.” But then I do it anyway, and guess what…I’m fecked for a month!

The days are perhaps more precious as we age and certainly, my brush with the mysteries of the other side have left me wary of misery, for it serves little purpose. I try to look for the good in what I have, what is in store for me, and in all that has come before that made me what I am today.

I know so many people strung out and hung up on the past. They carry slights big and small with them, like a bag of stones around their neck and wonder why they are afraid to jump into the water. Let it go. Go down to the hardware store, buy some timber and some nails, build a bridge, get over it and whatever the feck, if needs be, buy some matches and some kerosene and burn that fecker as you go. Not that I’m advocating burning bridges, far from it, I think you have to leave them intact, just cross them and move the flip on. But some bridges need to be burned to keep the demons at bay.

Like I say, I try hard to look for the positive and the good that happens. I expect nothing, work hard to achieve the things I want to achieve and if things don’t work out, “move along, there’s nothing to see here.” Now that I have exhausted myself luxuriating in my own bulls~~t, my mind has wandered back to the task at hand … there’s still…that hedge… I really don’t want to…

Haven’t read a Max Power book yet?  I think it’s time to pick one up.
Max Power’s books include, Darkly Wood, Darkly Wood II The woman who never wore shoes, Larry Flynn, Bad Blood and Little Big Boy
You can find more details about Max Power’s books here : –
http://www.amazon.com/author/maxpower
https://maxpowerbooks.wordpress.com
fhttp://facebook.com/maxpowerbooks
twitter @maxpowerbooks1

Universal book links
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood-II
http://getbook.at/Little-Big-Boy
http://getbook.at/Larry-Flynn
http://getbook.at/Bad-Blood

 

My forever thing…

My forever thing…

This one popped up and I couldn’t help share as it is about someone very special ❤️☘️🎈

Maxpower's Blog

No matter how long I’ve shared her space and watched her shine, I will never cease to be amazed and dazzled by the girl who always sparkles and makes me smile….

I have found a weightless love and it is a treasure, my pleasure, my swirl, my giggle of a girl.  She is my twinkle, my inkle, my kind of pure delight that I try with all my might to understand.   The moment she took my hand I knew and I grew ten feet tall as I watched my fall from sorrow that takes me beyond today and tomorrow and into the realm of forever.

There is no time or place, no space that can hold what I have found.  I cannot keep my feet on the ground at times and no wonder, the lightness she bestows on me.  Don’t think that tomorrow is what I’m waiting for, it will never…

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My First Six Novels

Rebecca Bryn

I began writing about twelve years ago when a friend, who was writing while convalescing, got me hooked. I love creating my own worlds and populating them with imperfect characters with whom I fall in love. They take me to places I thought I would never go and make me experience things I’d otherwise not experience. They live, love, cry, laugh, hope, and dream. These are the novels, the stories, they bring alive.

The Silence of the Stones is a psychological thriller set in West Wales, where I live. Alana, like me, is an artist. She is left a cottage in West Wales by an aunt she didn’t know existed and, despite her parents pleas, she grabs the chance of a new start in Coed-y-Cwm. Little does she know she is catapulting herself into a thirty-year-old conspiracy of silence over the disappearance of two toddlers that will change her life…

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FREE? … Well perhaps a little piece of your soul will suffice…

FREE? … Well perhaps a little piece of your soul will suffice…

Last night while you all slept safely in your beds, oblivious to the secrets that lie in wait in the darkness of the night, little did you know that plans were well underway to disturb whatever comfort blanket you use to help you sleep. The true darkness is about to descend once more you see, only this time there will be no place to hide.  Sometimes, there is nothing like a little teaser…Forget the final season of Game of Thrones… Darkly Wood III is coming… Here is a hint of what is to come for the uninitiated and for those who have already strayed into the heart of Darkly Wood…

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 She lay there quite still, with blood slowly oozing from the near bald patch at the side of her head where only moments before, there had been a lush braid of thick, red hair. Pain is very subjective and if anything, often circumstantial. It wasn’t pain she felt when she looked down and saw her missing right foot. It was something new. She could hear a very familiar sound and in truth, while she knew it had something to do with her present predicament, she really didn’t care.

Two feet stood planted inches from her face and when she recognised them for what they were, she at last realised that she was lying on her side on the ground.  They were very fine shoes made of leather. The toes narrowed to an almost impossible point and they were shiny, save a little dirt around the edges from the debris on the forest floor.

She scrambled to remember, as creeping into her consciousness was the rather frightening sound of an animal snarling.  Something was pulling at her one remaining foot. What was it that she wanted to recall?  There was something she was supposed to do, but it was impossible to gather her thoughts.

The fine shoes shifted on the earth beside her and the owner of the feet that filled them, looked down at her pathetic, frail little body. His lips curled to form a smile. Smiles came easily to him. Darkly Wood had seen many vile and dangerous people step beyond its fringes, but nothing compared to this man. The latest fresh face to visit Cranby, that little village tucked neatly below the hill that led to Darkly Wood, was far more menacing than anyone that had come before. He was truly dark and twisted, and he had brought with him something that no one could ever have expected.

That he didn’t look like much of a threat was deceptive, for looks are indeed deceiving. He had come with purpose, a creature devoid of fear, unmatched in cruelty and he brought something beyond darkness to the wood. The tales that had been told, the best of them, the worst of them, were all but a gentle prelude to the true darkness that had finally arrived. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, the time would come for him to reveal his purpose. He raised his hand and the snarling stopped. There was a familiar scent in the air. The breeze when it came, carried a name he knew well and it gently ruffled the red feather in his fedora. Things would never be the same again in Darkly Wood…

zzfed …If you are still waiting to dip your toe into Darkly Wood, now is the perfect time. The first book in the series will be FREE from Thursday 13th September until Monday 17th September, so grab it while you can… but a note of caution… you might want to leave the lights on… Watch the trailer then click on the link below to download from your local Amazon store. Remember Book one is FREE from tomorrow, well I say free…but there is still the small question of your soul…

http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood

http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood-II

Haven’t read a Max Power book yet?  I think it’s time to pick one up.
Max Power’s books include, Darkly Wood, Darkly Wood II The woman who never wore shoes, Larry Flynn, Bad Blood and Little Big Boy
You can find more details about Max Power’s books here : –
http://www.amazon.com/author/maxpower
https://maxpowerbooks.wordpress.com
fhttp://facebook.com/maxpowerbooks
twitter @maxpowerbooks1

Universal book links
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood-II
http://getbook.at/Little-Big-Boy
http://getbook.at/Larry-Flynn
http://getbook.at/Bad-Blood

Listening to a stranger’s bloody yarn on the road to nowhere…

Listening to a stranger’s bloody yarn on the road to nowhere…

I met an old man the other day, deep in the heart of the Galway countryside as I travelled across this lovely little Island to a meeting. He was driving a big old Massey Fergusson on a very narrow country road. Now as you do, I squeezed my car as far into the ditch as I could and he considered doing the same, but it was clear there wouldn’t be enough room for him to pass me as he had a wide cutting machine attached to the back of his tractor.

Now I don’t know how this would develop in whatever part of the world you live in, but in the west of Ireland on narrow bohereens, no one is really in that much of a hurry. What should have been a conversation prioritising a solution to our dilemma, turned out to be something entirely different.

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Now Jimmy (that was his name as I quickly established) had a brother, who he suspected I should know because he had some vague connection to the same business I’m involved in. He struggled to understand that I didn’t know him, despite the fact that I lived on the far side of the country and there are another four and a half million of us floating around, but to be fair, I don’t know them all.

As we chatted blocking the little road in the middle of nowhere, I stood leaning against the side of my car, while he sat high in his tractor with the door open. It was initially a strained conversation over the noise of his big tractor engine, but somewhere along the way he turned it off. I didn’t even notice until after the fact. The quite was simply splendid, framed by sporadic birdsong or the buzz of the occasional bee as they passed by my head, intend on completing some work of their own.

He enquired where I had come from, by which he meant from which direction, as it was as clear as the nose on my face that I was from Dublin based on my D reg and my  accent.  He didn’t ask me where I was going for that would have been nosey. When I told him I had come from out the Oranmore direction, he told me he had a sister or sishter as he pronounced it, who nearly married a fella from Oranmore, but he turned out to be a bit of a blaggard and himself and the brother, had dealt with that problem. I asked how long ago that was and he had a little think, before telling me that was in nineteen hundred and forty seven, the same year his aunt had died. It was at that point that I realised how old he was so I had a good close look at him.

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He must have been ninety if he was a day and there he was, a big fine agricultural looking man, still working, hands like plates and a head the shape of a turnip.  I thought he had a look of invincibility until he flittered onto his next story.

Hi aunt had died in a farming accident ,something he didn’t elaborate on but instead diverted as it reminded him of his own dice with death last year.  He had been trying to shift a bullock, to where or for what reason I didn’t question, and he had the creature tied up beside his tractor. Apparently the bullock took offence to being tethered and swung about, forcing the poor man onto the cutting blades attached to his tractor.  Again out of politeness, I allowed him assume that I could make full sense of the picture he was painting, but my big urban head just imagined a Transformer-tractor stabbing him with a sword.  I began silently singing my own version of the Transformers song in my head. “Transformers… Tractors in the nude”

I implored him to tell me more and he didn’t need much imploring, but first he had to clarify some detail. He was not at home at the time you see, but doing a favour for a cousin. He wouldn’t have minded, only sure wouldn’t it have been easier to get a pulse from a dead man, than to get the very same fella to put his hand in his pocket and stand you a round. Anyway the cousin lived near Loughrea by his account, and didn’t the blade slice open his stomach, Jimmy’s that is not the cousin (I had to keep up as he had a tendency to meander.) He lifted his auld geansaí and showed me his scar with pride.

Didn’t it slice open his stomach as he said and out came his guts. He was standing there in the middle of a field all alone, trying to tuck his guts back into himself, covered as he was in cowshite and muck, with not a soul to help him. You know I asked him what he did of course.

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Now here is where I really did admire him, not for what he told me next, for it was clearly not true that he walked the 40kms (25 miles) to the hospital in Galway, holding his guts together with a pair of cowshite covered hands, but I admired him for the fact that on another day, a lesser man might nearly have believed him.

Content at having retold his story to a complete stranger, no doubt something he had done many times, he showed a little vulnerability. I’ve not been the same farming since, he told me. To be very honest, he continued, he had become nervous and stopped working with livestock altogether. He was getting a little old for that side of things. Suddenly through all the bravado and tall tales, I saw that this wasn’t a fine big sturdy farmer, rather a frail, lonely old man, once mighty no doubt, but weakened by the vagaries of old age. I admired him even more.

Anyway he said, he’d best be getting on. With that, he turned on the tractor engine and bid me adieu telling me I’d best step off to the side of the road for a minute. I stepped to the back of the car and he raised the big old yoke at the back of his tractor high in the air, and he was able to pass me by without a problem.  He could of course, simply have done this in the beginning. But sure then we wouldn’t have met, nor passed the time of day and I wouldn’t have heard his story. Isn’t it a grand little country I live in…

Haven’t read a Max Power book yet?  I think it’s time to pick one up.
Max Power’s books include, Darkly Wood, Darkly Wood II The woman who never wore shoes, Larry Flynn, Bad Blood and Little Big Boy
You can find more details about Max Power’s books here : –
http://www.amazon.com/author/maxpower
https://maxpowerbooks.wordpress.com
fhttp://facebook.com/maxpowerbooks
twitter @maxpowerbooks1

Universal book links
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood
http://getbook.at/Darkly-Wood-II
http://getbook.at/Little-Big-Boy
http://getbook.at/Larry-Flynn
http://getbook.at/Bad-Blood