Much Too Much

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Much Too Much



We are consumers. We are trained to consume from the day we see the McDonald’s commercials and beg for Happy Meals. We see the endless advertising telling us how much happier we can be if we only buy the faster car, the bigger house, the latest IPod, the Blu-Ray, the big screen TV.

Our economy is based on people consuming. It is the engine that drives the world, and without consumers, there might not be things to consume. It does make a kind of sense, and no one wants to return to the middle ages. But just when do we reach the point where we finally have too much?

I trumpet the abundance we live in at every chance I get, and try to offer my thanks for the wonderful circumstances I find myself in. I celebrate the present day technology and advances, eager to see what tomorrow brings. But I hope somewhere in the equation we decide who we are. We aren’t our car, our house, our job, our position in life. If we think that is who we are, then we miss out on what is happening right now in our lives by planning ways to keep our possessions and titles.

Some may say I live a charmed life, and I would agree with them. But you also lead a charmed life, simply existing in a world where cholera has been largely eliminated because we chlorinate our water. You and I live in a world where probably no one we know has tuberculosis, has ever had scarlet fever, the plague, measles, mumps and a host of other diseases common just 50 years ago. Our highway engineers design safer roads and cars, and though the newscasters would like us to believe otherwise, we live in less crime, poverty, and abuse. Does it mean these things don’t happen? No, but it’s like someone once said – The world isn’t getting worse, it’s just that the news reporting is so much better.

Can wringing our hands and decrying the remaining problems in our world make this world a better place? Or does our focus on the negative emphasize and empower it? I want to be one of the positive forces in the world, working for a better attitude about what we really have today, and the abundance which awaits us tomorrow.

It is reflected in the things I do each day. I teach high school students that education can make a difference in their futures, encouraging them to get as much education as possible, sacrificing what seems like the opportunity work at McDonald’s today for the chance at better jobs tomorrow. It happens with a high school degree. I also teach college students, who often wonder if the sacrifices they make in money today to endure the poverty of a college life will be worth it tomorrow. They know of the promise of more education and endure the challenges of endless classes, lectures and stultifying boredom to be able to provide a better future for themselves and their future families.

I work each week promoting religious activity in my church callings, urging people to see the benefit of living correct principles today, which gain us happier days now and the promise of a better life after this life. I’ve been given other talents I try to use to entertain people, helping them make it through one more day, or to help them see the absurdity, the adversity, the abundance, the diversity and the beauty of this incredible blue planet.

The world is overwhelming, and we can either celebrate the good, or commiserate about the bad. I’m not asking you to ignore the problems, but use an attitude of the possible to defeat the negativism which surrounds us. Can we be happy in an unhappy world?

I contend there is nothing else we can do. When you see the stranger on the street, are they met with a grimace or a grin? Are you pleasant to the cashier about being there to serve you for a wage you probably wouldn’t work for, or do you vent your frustration about prices on the person least able to do anything about it? Are you crowding out others in traffic so you can hurry off to your next appointment, or are you waving for someone to pull in front of you?

It really all does come down to attitude. People choose the kind of day they will have. Even in the midst of the worst of circumstances, we are allowed to choose. We choose each and every second how we will use our life, and at the end of 31 million seconds, another year has passed. When we get to this moment next year, will it be enough?

Welcome to your next 31 million seconds. Spend them well.

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A Quick Five Hundred

Sometimes it’s fun just to do something different. Plus you might get to miss parent-teacher conference. When I was requested to show up one more day for the pain patch video, I had no idea what an easy day it would be. Plus I got a ton of stuff done.

Sleeping in was the best part, since my call wasn’t until one-thirty in the afternoon. I could only sleep until 8 am, and I don’t think the wife was too happy to have to go to work while I slept. We usually have the same schedule, so we leave for work at about the same time. She was a little noisy, and I guess that was her way of showing her displeasure. But even when I did get back to sleep, I had nightmares about our kids. Serves me right.

So after a shower and shave, it’s off to the races. Which means getting some stuff ready for my substitute while I get personal leave deducted for the day I miss, but I still have to show up at work. Then off to check on some of the surplus places I like, and then to the IKEA store to buy a couple of pillows. I even had enough time to go to the radio station to record some commercials, and then go to the agent to get a voucher so I could get paid for the two days. Somewhere in between I had an Astroburger and some fries.

So far a great day, since I didn’t think I would be working the usual 12 hours in a filming contract. A late call usually means a short day unless the crew is planning on shooting late. I once sat for 12 hours before even being called to the set, and we didn’t finish for six more hours. I got overtime pay, but it was a very long 18 hour day. For this pain patch video, I had spent 12 hours the day before, but only had a couple of scenes to shoot today.

The only bad news from the whole day was that when you show up this late in a shooting day you don’t get lunch, and I showed up right as lunch was being served. I was already full, and remember, there is always craft services. I had a Coke and a water. But I had other work I could do as I waited for my shot, and after two or three hours, they were ready for me.

One of the hardest things is to get the lighting right for a scene, especially if there is sunlight involved. It actually took longer to get the lights right than my scene took to shoot. Eventually the clouds helped out and solved the problem, and after sitting around for the afternoon, I shot my scene. It was supposed to be an interview with a doctor, and I found out the guy playing the doctor does the voice you hear at Disneyland. I thought it sounded familiar. We went through some fake dialogue since none of the sound was being recorded. Then we went through some more everyday conversation and the cameras kept rolling. I looked like I was in pain. I wrung my hands. I grimaced. Sometimes we laughed, but who knows which parts they will lose. An extended take like this lets the actors relax and then the camera can get some nice honest shots. Then I was done.

That’s right. I was filmed for less than 5 minutes – probably more like 3 minutes. They were willing to pay me five hundred dollars to sit around all day and do that one scene. And people wonder why movie tickets cost so much.

But really, this footage will only be seen on the internet and maybe on some DVD’s sent to doctors. But it’s what the client wanted, and everyone was very happy with our work. I was definitely overpaid on that day, and most of you know I would probably show up and do the same for just what craft services lets me eat. But don’t tell them.

Don’t get me wrong. These are good people doing hard work which most of the world thinks is glamorous. But the nurse who was experiencing this world for the first time this week told me she didn’t really think it was for her, and she had no idea how hard the work really was.

But again, I don’t really want to do this kind of work full time even when the money is so good. I really missed my students, my colleagues, and like I said before, sometimes it good just to do something different, so you can appreciate those things you really do love to do.

Is there research you need to do?

The Mouse by Saki / H.H. Munro

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The Mouse by Saki / H.H. Munro

THEODORIC VOLER HAD been brought up, from infancy to the confines of middle age, by a fond mother whose chief solicitude had been to keep him screened from what she called the coarser realities of life. When she died she left Theodoric alone in a world that was as real as ever, and a good deal coarser than he considered it had any need to be. To a man of his temperament and upbringing even a simple railway journey was crammed with petty annoyances and minor discords, and as he settled himself down in a second-class compartment one September morning he was conscious of ruffled feelings and general mental discomposure. He had been staying at a country vicarage, the inmates of which had been certainly neither brutal nor bacchanalian, but their supervision of the domestic establishment had been of that lax order which invites disaster. The pony carriage that was to take him to the station had never been properly ordered, and when the moment for his departure drew near, the handyman who should have produced the required article was nowhere to be found. In this emergency Theodoric, to his mute but very intense disgust, found himself obliged to collaborate with the vicar’s daughter in the task of harnessing the pony, which necessitated groping about in an ill-lighted outbuilding called a stable, and smelling very like one–except in patches where it smelled of mice.

Without being actually afraid of mice, Theodoric classed them among the coarser incidents of life, and considered that Providence, with a little exercise of moral courage, might long ago have recognized that they were not indispensable, and have withdrawn them from circulation. As the train glided out of the station Theodoric’s nervous imagination accused himself of exhaling a weak odor of stable yard, and possibly of displaying a moldy straw or two on his unusually well-brushed garments. Fortunately the only other occupation of the compartment, a lady of about the same age as himself, seemed inclined for slumber rather than scrutiny; the train was not due to stop till the terminus was reached, in about an hour’s time, and the carriage was of the oId-fashioned sort that held no communication with a corridor, therefore no further traveling companions were likely to intrude on Theodoric’s semiprivacy. And yet the train had scarcely attained its normal speed before he became reluctantly but vividly aware that he was not alone with the slumbering lady; he was not even alone in his own clothes. A warm, creeping movement over his flesh betrayed the unwelcome and highly resented presence, unseen but poignant, of a strayed mouse, that had evidently dashed into its present retreat during the episode of the pony harnessing. Furtive stamps and shakes and wildly directed pinches failed to dislodge the intruder, whose motto, indeed, seemed to be Excelsior; and the lawful occupant of the clothes lay back against the cushions and endeavored rapidly to evolve some means for putting an end to the dual ownership.

It was unthinkable that he should continue for the space of a whole hour in the horrible position of a Rowton House for vagrant mice (already his imagination had at least doubled the numbers of the alien invasion). On the other hand, nothing less drastic than partial disrobing would ease him of his tormentor, and to undress in the presence of a lady, even for so laudable a purpose, was an idea that made his ear tips tingle in a blush of abject shame. He had never been able to bring himself even to the mild exposure of openwork socks in the presence of the fair sex. And yet–the lady in this case was to all appearances soundly and securely asleep; the mouse, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to crowd a wanderjahr into a few strenuous minutes. If there is any truth in the theory of transmigration, this particular mouse must certainly have been in a former state a member of the Alpine Club.

Sometimes in its eagerness it lost its footing and slipped for half an inch or so; and then, in fright, or more probably temper, it bit. Theodoric was goaded into the most audacious undertaking of his life. Crimsoning to the hue of a beetroot and keeping an agonized watch on his slumbering fellow traveler, he swiftly and noiselessly secured the ends of his railway rug to the racks on either side of the carriage, so that a substantial curtain hung athwart the compartment. In the narrow dressing room that he had thus improvised he proceeded with violent haste to extricate himself partially and the mouse entirely from the surrounding casings of tweed and half-wool.

As the unraveled mouse gave a wild leap to the floor, the rug, slipping its fastening at either end, also came down with a heart-curdling flop, and almost simultaneously the awakened sleeper opened her eyes. With a movement almost quicker than the mouse’s, Theodoric pounced on the rug and hauled its ample folds chin-high over his dismantled person as he collapsed into the farther corner of the carriage. The blood raced and beat in the veins of his neck and forehead, while he waited dumbly for the communication cord to be pulled. The lady, however, contented herself with a silent stare at her strangely muffled companion. How much had she seen, Theodoric queried to himself; and in any case what on earth must she think of his present posture?

“I think I have caught a chill,” he ventured desperately.

“Really, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I was just going to ask you if you would open this window.”

“I fancy it’s malaria,” he added, his teeth chattering slightly, as much from fright as from a desire to support his theory.

“I’ve got some brandy in my holdall, if you’ll kindly reach it down for me,” said his companion.

“Not for worlds–I mean, I never take anything for it,” he assured her earnestly.

“I suppose you caught it in the tropics?”

Theodoric, whose acquaintance with the tropics was limited to an annual present of a chest of tea from an uncle in Ceylon, felt that even the malaria was slipping from him. Would it be possible, he wondered to disclose the real state of affairs to her in small installments?

“Are you afraid of mice?” he ventured, growing, if possible, more scarlet in the face.

“Not unless they came in quantities. Why do you ask?”

“I had one crawling inside my clothes just now,” said Theodoric in a voice that hardly seemed his own. “It was a most awkward situation.”

“It must have been, if you wear your clothes at all tight,” she observed. “But mice have strange ideas of comfort.”

“I had to get rid of it while you were asleep,” he continued. Then, with a gulp, he added, “It was getting rid of it that brought me to-to this.”

“Surely leaving off one small mouse wouldn’t bring on a chill,” she exclaimed, with a levity that Theodoric accounted abominable.

Evidently she had detected something of his predicament, and was enjoying his confusion. All the blood in his body seemed to have mobilized in one concentrated blush, and an agony of abasement, worse than a myriad mice, crept up and down over his soul. And then, as reflection began to assert itself, sheer terror took the place of humiliation. With every minute that passed the train was rushing nearer to the crowded and bustling terminus, where dozens of prying eyes would be exchanged for the one paralyzing pair that watched him from the farther corner of the carriage.

There was one slender, despairing chance, which the next few minutes must decide. His fellow traveler might relapse into a blessed slumber. But as the minutes throbbed by that chance ebbed away. The furtive glance which Theodoric stole at her from time to time disclosed only an unwinking wakefulness.

“I think we must be getting near now,” she presently observed.

Theodoric had already noted with growing terror the recurring stacks of small, ugly dwellings that heralded the journey’s end. The words acted as a signal. Like a hunted beast breaking cover and dashing madly toward some other haven of momentary safety he threw aside his rug, and struggled frantically into his disheveled garments.

He was conscious of dull suburban stations racing past the window, of a choking, hammering sensation in his throat and heart, and of an icy silence in that corner toward which he dared not look. Then as he sank back in his seat, clothed and almost delirious, the train slowed down to a final crawl, and the woman spoke.

“Would you be so kind,” she asked, “as to get me a porter to put me into a cab? It’s a shame to trouble you when you’re feeling unwell, but being blind makes one so helpless at a railway station.”

Father William

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FATHER WILLIAM

by: Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

” YOU are old, Father William,” the young man said,

“And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head–

Do you think, at your age, it is right?”



“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,

“I feared it might injure the brain;

But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again.”



“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,

And have grown most uncommonly fat;

Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door–

Pray, what is the reason of that?”



“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,

“I kept all my limbs very supple

By the use of this ointment — one shilling the box —

Allow me to sell you a couple?”



“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak

For anything tougher than suet;

Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak–

Pray, how did you manage to do it?”



“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,

And argued each case with my wife;

And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw

Has lasted the rest of my life.”



“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose

That your eye was as steady as ever;

Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose–

What made you so awfully clever?”



“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”

Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs!

Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?

Be off, or I’ll kick you down-stairs

Same Old Same Old

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Same Old Same Old

Being overpaid isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It may seem grand and glorious to shoot a commercial, but it really is just another kind of work. The days are long, the pay is good, the people you work with are professional, and some of the work you do never sees the light of day.

I spent today shooting a commercial for a pain patch. These are called “industrial” shoots, since they aren’t intended for the big screen, but usually help sell some product. The pay is usually good and I got five hundred dollars for the day. I’ll also be working tomorrow for another five hundred, but when you deduct the personal leave I have to take from school, it’s not much per hour more than I usually make. Plus most people don’t know the regular shooting day is scheduled for 12 hours. It starts from when you show up and check in for costumes. After six hours you usually get a free lunch, and many of you already know how much I love to check out the craft services table. Craft services is a bunch of free food meant to keep actors close by. Today I enjoyed a Coke, a chocolate cake donut, and an energy bar. There was also some fruit, so I ate a couple of pieces of mango and cantaloupe just for good measure.

The problem with shooting schedules is they tend to get behind, and that may be the reason for a 12 hour day. When you schedule stuff that might take eight hours, it usually takes longer. I have been on shorter days, sometimes finishing in just a couple of hours. But then you don’t get a free lunch.

I was shooting with a nurse who has actually given the product in the approval tests, so she was excellent, especially filling in the details of what the rest of us didn’t know. She was very excited since this was her first day to be filmed except a movie which was shot in her yard. But today, she was the star, and it’s hard not to feel pretty excited after getting the right clothes on and having someone fuss over your hair and makeup. This is why actors usually look better on screen than in person. I won’t mention names, but you would be surprised how some very famous actors look when not made up and in the center of a soft-focused lens. Let’s just say it makes the imperfections disappear.

She was having a good day, but to the rest of the crew it was just another day to everyone else. But the bad news is many of these talented professionals don’t get to work every day, and there may be long stretches between jobs even when they are the best at what they do. So even though the pay is very good, sometimes it has to last a very long time.

Every time a commercial or movie is shot, someone has to haul the lighting and camera equipment to the shooting location, today two floors up from the parking lot. The grips and lighting guys show up early to get everything set up, and then they get to be the last to leave as everything is loaded back up.

Before the shooting day even begins, scripts have been written, scenes designed, a shooting schedule designed and remember – someone has to arrange for craft services also. But enough about the food. And don’t forget, after the scenes are shot and in the can, they have to be edited, orchestrated and marketed.

The worse news is after all this hard work, sometimes all the hard work never makes it out of the can. I have worked on films yet to be released. That’s right. Even though it is listed on the Internet Movie Database. The IMDB is a place where most films get listed so people can look up their own work. Really, it’s just another place to see who was in a movie, and directors will sometimes list films which have not been released, but it still would be credited to that director, actor, etc.

A Cyprus Credit Union commercial I play a small business advisor which recently showed up on television was shot almost three years ago. Why the wait? Who knows? But the good news is I get paid whether it shows up soon or not.

So after a 12 hour day, I get to go back and do it again tomorrow. I don’t have to go quite as early, so that’s always nice, but I did have to make a couple of adjustments to my schedule. But how often do you get to pretend you are in pain and get paid for it? Wait while I work on my grimace.

Too Much Money

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Dane Allred seeks to combine the best of podcasting and blogging in 800 word blogs turned into 5 minute podcasts. They are broadcast live every Sunday on KTKK AM 630 from 7 to 8 p.m. (Mountain Standard Time), and are also available at 1001Thanks.blogspot.com. Watch for his upcoming book, “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred”.

Too Much Money

Is there such a thing as too much money? I don’t think I want to be tempted by the lure of riches, and as a teacher, I probably never will be. It’s been a good career for me, and I love what I do, even if I will never be rich from my profession. But there are times I think I am overcompensated, and these usually involve some of my other activities.

I shot a commercial Wednesday where I was paid $500 to model my overweight pasty white back. It’s a commercial for a patch, and they wanted a picture of my back, so I had my wife take one with my camera phone and I e-mailed it to the client. It’s a strange thing to have someone else want to display your back for their product, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this kind of exposure – pun intended. I was definitely overcompensated. But these are the kinds of special occurrences in my life that make me wonder about the universe.

I love the abundance I see everywhere, and getting paid this kind of money for baring my back is a strange way to celebrate abundance. Don’t get me wrong – I won’t turn down the money, it’s just that I think it’s ludicrous to get that kind of money for one day’s work, especially when I consider some people in the world never make that much in a year, let alone in one day. But there definitely is something strange about getting paid to make a commercial about a pain patch. But stranger things have happened, and I hope this isn’t the last time I get a chance to do something different.

I did get overpaid one time when an advertising agency saved a bunch of money by filming in Utah. This commercial was supposed to be about how MCI was the telephone company of the future. Somehow it had something to do with driving the Golden Spike, so when the company budgeted three million to shoot it, they had quite a bit left over. Since the Golden Spike Monument is a national park, there was no cost to use the site. When all was said and done, the extra money had to be spent. You know how that works. If you don’t spend the budget you are given, then your budget will be reduced the next time.

It really shouldn’t be this way, but it is one of the problems of business. I had already been paid too much to pose at the top of a telegraph pole, peering off into the future seeing what a great company MCI would become. I got two hundred dollars for spending two days pretending to be building the first transcontinental railroad. The workers who slaved away and risked their lives only got $35 dollars a month. Yes, that was many years ago, but it still doesn’t make it right.

Since there was extra money, the company shooting the commercial called me up and asked if I would like to be bumped up to be a featured extra. They sent me a check for $3000, and all I had to do was sign a paper. Like I said before, it’s overcompensation, but who turns it down when it’s offered?

I really only have two rules that apply to almost all situations. Number one is “They will take your money.” I have found this to be true in most cases, even when a deadline is involved. I was admitted into a Master’s program at a major university nine months after the “deadline”, and I only had to pay a late fee. I think it was fifty dollars.

Rule number two does have some qualifications, but it is “I’ll take their money.” There are some things I wouldn’t do for money, but we don’t need to list those here. Let’s just say if it’s not immoral or illegal, I will probably take money to do it. Lift sheetrock over my head and hold it while an old guy tries to screw it in? No problem. Castrate pigs? Also no problem. Risk my life cutting trees with chainsaws miles from civilization? Again, no problem.

I’ve even been paid to say words I really don’t want my daughters to hear, but they are understanding as long as I am playing a character. I don’t think you could pay me to swear at them. I’ve done that without pay, and I’m usually sorry after. That being said, I know there are people in the world paid to do bad things, and I don’t want to be like that. I like being paid to do good things best. But if I have to bear my back to make a buck, just watch my shirt come off.

Relaxing

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Relaxing


Patience is different than relaxing. We vacation so we can do nothing and call it relaxing. When we are on a vacation, we can develop lots of patience. Sitting on a beach for hours on end is helping us unwind, when usually we can’t stand waiting in a doctor’s office for more than 10 minutes. An interesting way to develop more patience is to compare waiting to relaxing.

Mostly, when we are impatient, it’s because something we can’t control seems to be wasting our time. One of my proudest moments was when I broke my leg and had to wait in the emergency room for about six hours. It was an opportunity to practice patience, and there really wasn’t anything I could do about it but take a deep breath and relax. There had been a terrible accident on the freeway, and the emergency personnel had to take care of those people first. I just had a broken leg, and while it hurt, I was in much better shape than anyone else who showed up that day.

So I had a choice. I got out some old crossword puzzles and worked on them. I read the newspapers, and I read some magazines. I probably could have slept, but I have never been able to sleep in the hospital, much less the emergency room. There’s just too much going on in there to rest. So as I passed the time, I knew those who needed the help were getting it, and eventually I would be seen. It was an interesting chance to try and relax while I had to wait.

Even when I’m stuck in a long line at a store, I try to change my perspective and use the opportunity to really notice the abundance around me. There are thousands of products in most retail places, and I rarely take the time to examine the price, the purpose and other details of products. There are some really interesting magazines at the check-out stand which I would never buy, but it’s fun to flip a few pages in and read the latest gossip.

As an actor, I get the chance to play all kinds of characters. In the past year alone, I’ve played an abusive alcoholic father, a church official, a cop, a ventriloquist, and a dead baker. So I like to look around and study the people I see. This is a technique used by the famous Russian acting teacher Stanislavski. Looking around and observing people gives me the chance to integrate some of the behaviors, speech patterns and body postures I see all around me. It can give us a chance to see the variety of life which is lived by others. We tend to think our lifestyle is how everyone else lives, and if we step outside ourselves for a moment, we will truly understand how our lives might not be so miserable as we think. We may find out we have a pretty good life after all. Or as Jimmy Stewart is told by Clarence the Angel, “You know, you really had a wonderful life.”

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the most patient person in the world, and as a teacher, I am the worst student in the world. I’ll get a chance to behave tomorrow as I attend a workshop, but I’ll probably get up and wander just because I know there are so many interesting things to see in the classroom besides the front of the room and the instructor.

When are we most patient? If you are getting a massage, it’s easy to be patient and want to spend more time getting relaxed as our muscles are manipulated. When some people play video games, they aren’t relaxed, but are very patient while they try to get a new high score. They can pass hours patiently trying to beat the machine, and most of us are guilty of the same thing in front of the television. We can sit patiently for hours while our favorite programs play in between the hundreds of commercials.

If we are engaged in a hobby, time passes so swiftly we wonder where it went. If you are reading a good book, you can emerge from the pages hours later wondering how time can fly so fast. If you are doing something creative, or spending time in recreational activities, you’ll notice time flying, and not like the alarm clock you fling across the room when you want to sleep in. For me, when I am skiing, windsurfing, gardening, or building something from wood scraps, the time speeds up and vanishes.

We know the time is passing at exactly the same rate. How we enjoy these seconds, minutes and hours may only depend on our practice of patience.


This is another episode of “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred”. From the weekly broadcast of “Abundance”. Tune each week from 7 to 8 P.M. Mountain Standard Time (9 to 10 EST) or listen on any web browser at www.k-talk.com.

Unharmonious Match

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Unharmonious Match

In the play “Our Town”, the narrator says most people go to their graves “two by two”, but there are some who are not meant to stay together. The bliss of early love wears off, and to prevent a murder, the couple separates. My mother doesn’t like me to tell this story, but it will serve as an illustration that some people are better off apart. My mother divorced my father when I was ten. She has been married twice more, and I need to say she is very happy at this point in her life and I am happy to have an excellent step-father. I have had a couple. But Dad has pursued the legal route to polygamy by marrying and divorcing several times. My sister and I think the count is up to 15 marriages and 14 divorces, but some of these are to the same person. When I harassed my mom about this she was not very happy.

I told her between my two parents, there were almost 20 marriages. “With the divorce rate at 50 percent”, I continued, “that means 40 couples have had to stay married so you guys could get divorced.” Like I said, she was not very happy with me. I hope she doesn’t hear this on the air.

There are many people who agree an amicable parting is probably best. Here are some of our most famous writers with their mostly negative views on marriage:



Anton Chekhov: If you are afraid of loneliness, do not marry.

Benjamin Disraeli: Every woman should marry — and no man.

Sydney Smith said: Marriage resembles a pair of shears; so joined that they cannot be separated, often moving in opposite directions, yet always punishing everyone who comes between them.

This quote by Socrates may surprise you: By all means marry; if you get a good wife, you’ll become happy; if you get a bad one, you’ll become a philosopher.

Socrates also said this about marriage: Call no man unhappy until he is married.

Herbert Spencer said: Marriage: a ceremony in which rings are put on the finger of the lady and through the nose of the gentleman.

Stephen Butler Leacock said this of marriage: Many a man in love with a dimple makes the mistake of marrying the whole girl.

Edward Verrall Lucas said: The trouble with marriage is that, while every woman is at heart a mother, every man is at heart a bachelor.

Helen Rowland said this of marriage: In olden times sacrifices were made at the altar – a custom which is still continued.

and she also said: When you see a married couple walking down the street, the one who is two or three steps ahead is the one who’s mad.

George Bernard Shaw tells us: It is a woman’s business to get married as soon as possible, and a man’s to keep unmarried as long as he can.

William Makepeace Thackeray’s view: Remember, it is as easy to marry a rich woman as a poor one.

Artemus Ward said: He is dreadfully married. He’s the most married man I ever saw in my life.

Zsa Zsa Gabor is an expert on marriage. She’s been married nine times. She said: A man in love is incomplete until he has married; then he’s finished.



Speaking of divorce, some of our more expert celebrities have weighed in, including Zsa Zsa.

She said: He taught me housekeeping, when I divorce I keep the house.

Sancha Guitry said: When a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to let him keep her.

Kin Hubbard said: Nobody works as hard for money as the man who marries it.

Carolyn Wells understands divorce. She said: The wages of sin is alimony.

Oscar Wilde: Divorces are made in heaven.

Arthur Baer: Alimony is like buying oats for a dead horse.

John Barrymore: You never realize how short a month is until you pay alimony.

It really does seem some people can’t stay married, and psychologists tell us many people continue to marry the same kind of person they just divorced. With a divorce rate of 50 percent, maybe we should just shuffle the deck and move down the road. You move next door, and the guy there moves down to the next house. It makes me think arranged marriages might not be so bad. If you didn’t like who was chosen, you could divorce, and the rate might still be fifty percent. Maybe you’d do better choosing on your own later if someone chose for you first. It couldn’t turn out much worse.

If you are married, I hope you are as happily married. Samuel Taylor Coleridge thought this: The happiest marriage I can picture would be the union of a deaf man to a blind woman.

This is another episode of “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred”. From the weekly broadcast of “Abundance”. Tune each week from 7 to 8 P.M. Mountain Standard Time (9 to 10 EST) or listen on any web browser at www.k-talk.com.

Patience as Taught by Nature by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

This is another episode of "Literature Out Loud" from the weekly program "Abundance". As the host, Dane Allred reads selections from famous literature each week on www.k-talk.com from 7 to 8 pm Mountain Standard Time every Sunday.

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Patience as Taught by Nature

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

'O DREARY life,' we cry, 'O dreary life!'
And still the generations of the birds
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle! Ocean girds
Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards
Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife
Meek leaves drop yearly from the forest-trees
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory: O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these!--
But so much patience as a blade of grass
Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.

Three Letters From Teddy by Elizabeth Silence Baynard

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THREE LETTERS FROM TEDDY

by Elizabeth Silance Baynard

Teddy's letter came today, and now that I've read it, I will place it in my cedar chest with the other things that are important to my life.

"I wanted you to be the first to know." I smiled as I read the words he had written and my heart swelled with a pride that I had no right to feel.

I have not seen Teddy Stallard since he was a student in my fifth grade class, 15 years ago. It was early in my career, and I had only been teaching for two years.

From the first day he stepped into my classroom, I disliked Teddy. Teachers (although everyone knows differently) are not supposed to have favorites in a class, but most especially are they not to show dislike for a child, any child.

Nevertheless, every year there are one or two children that one cannot help but become attached to, for teachers are human, and it is human nature to like bright, pretty, intelligent people, whether they are 10 years old or 25. And sometimes, not too often fortunately, there will be one or two students to whom the teacher just can't seem to relate.

I had thought myself quite capable of handling my personal feelings along that line until Teddy walked into my life. There wasn't a child I particularly liked that year, but Teddy was most assuredly one I disliked.

He was dirty. Not just occasionally, but all the time. His hair hung over his ears, and he actually had to hold it out of his eyes as he wrote his papers in class. (And this was before it was fashionable to do so!). Too, he had a peculiar odor about him which I could never identify. His physical faults were many, and his intellect left a lot to be desired, also. By the end of the first week, I knew he was hopelessly behind the others. Not only was he behind; he was just plain slow! I began to withdraw from him immediately.

Any teacher will tell you that it's more of a pleasure to teach a bright child. It is definitely more rewarding for one's ego. But any teacher worth her credentials can channel work to the bright child, keeping him challenged and learning, while she puts her major effort on the slower ones. Any teacher can do this. Most teachers do it, but I didn't, not that year. In fact, I concentrated on my best students and let the others follow along as best they could. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I took perverse pleasure in using my red pen, and each time I came to Teddy's papers, the cross marks (and there were many) were always a little redder than necessary.

"Poor work!" I would write with a flourish. While I did not actually ridicule the boy, my attitude was obviously quite apparent to the class; for he quickly became the class "goat," the outcast - the unlovable and the unloved. He knew I didn't like him, but he didn't know why. Nor did I know - then or now - why I felt such an intense dislike for him. All I know is that he was a little boy no one cared about, and I made no effort on his behalf.

The days rolled by. We made it through the Fall Festival and the Thanksgiving holidays, and I continued marking happily with my red pen.

As Christmas holidays approached, I knew that Teddy would never catch up in time to be promoted to the sixth grade level. He would be a repeater. To justify myself, I went to his cumulative folder and from time to time looked it over. He had very low grades for the first four years, but not grade failure. How he had made it, I did not know. I closed my mind to the personal remarks.

First Grade: Teddy shows promise by work and attitude, but has a poor home situation.

Second Grade: Teddy could do better. Mother terminally ill. He receives little help at home.

Third Grade: Teddy is a pleasant boy. Helpful, but too serious. Slow learner. Mother passed away end of the year.

Fourth Grade: Very slow, but well behaved. Father shows little or no interest.
Well, they passed him four times. But he will certainly repeat fifth grade! Do him good! I said to myself.

And then the last day before the Christmas holidays arrived. Our little tree on the reading table sported paper and popcorn chains. Many gifts were heaped underneath waiting for the big moment. Teachers always get several gifts at Christmas, but mine that year seemed bigger and more elaborate than ever. There was not a student who had not brought me one. Each unwrapping brought squeals of delight, and the proud giver would receive effusive thank-you's.

Teddy's gift wasn't the last one I picked up, in fact it was the middle of the pile. Its wrapping was a brown paper bag, and he had colored Christmas trees and red bells all over it. It was stuck together with masking tape. "For Miss Thompson - From Teddy" it read. The group was completely silent and for the first time I felt conspicuous, embarrassed because they all stood watching me unwrap that gift.

As I removed the last bit of masking tape, two items fell to my desk: a gaudy rhinestone bracelet with several stones missing and a small bottle of dime store cologne - half empty. I could hear the snickers and whispers, and I wasn't sure I could look at Teddy. "Isn't it lovely?" I said, placing the bracelet on my wrist. "Teddy, would you help me fasten it?"

He smiled shyly as he fixed the clasp, and I held my wrist for all of them to admire. There were a few hesitant oohs and ahhs, but as I dabbed the cologne behind my ears, all the little girls lined up for a dab behind their ears. I continued to open the gifts until I reached the bottom of the pile. We ate our refreshments and then the bell rang. The children filed out with shouts of "See you next year," and "Merry Christmas!" but Teddy waited at his desk.

When they had all left, he walked toward me, clutching his gift and books to his chest. "You smell just like Mom," he said softly. "Her bracelet looks real pretty on you too. I'm glad you liked it."

He left quickly. I locked the door, sat down at my desk and wept, resolving to make up to Teddy what I had deliberately deprived him of - a teacher who cared. I stayed every afternoon with Teddy from the end of the Christmas holiday until the last day of school. Sometimes we worked together. Sometimes he worked alone while I drew up lesson plans or graded papers.

Slowly but surely he caught up with the rest of the class. Gradually there was a definite upward curve in his grades. He did not have to repeat the fifth grade. In fact, his final averages were among the highest in the class, and although I knew he would be moving out of state when school was out, I was not worried for him. Teddy had reached a level that would stand him in good stead the following year no matter where he went. He had enjoyed a good measure of success and as we were taught in our teacher training course, SUCCESS BUILDS SUCCESS.

I did not hear from Teddy until seven years later when his first letter appeared in my mailbox:

Dear Miss Thompson,
I just wanted you to be the first to know. I will be graduating second in my class next month.
Very truly yours,
Teddy Stallard

I sent him a card of congratulations and a small package, a pen and pencil gift set. I wondered what he would do after graduation.
Four years later, Teddy's second letter came.

Dear Miss Thompson,
I wanted you to be the first to know. I was just informed I'll be graduating first in my class. The University has not been easy, but I liked it.
Very truly yours
Teddy Stallard

I sent him a good pair of sterling silver monogrammed cuff links and a card - so proud of you, I could burst.
And now, today - Teddy's last letter.

Dear Miss Thompson,
I wanted you to be the first to know. As of today, I am Theodore J. Stallard, M.D. How about that!!!??? I'm going to be married in July, the 22nd to be exact. I wanted to ask you if you would come and sit where Mom would sit if she were here. I will have no family there as Dad died last year.
Very Truly yours,
Teddy Stallard

I am not sure what kind of card one sends to a doctor on completion of medical school and professional boards. Maybe I'll just wait and take a wedding gift, but my congratulations can't wait.

Dear Ted,
Congratulations! You made it and you did it yourself! In spite of those like me and because of us, the day has finally come for you.
God bless you. I'll be at that wedding with bells on!
Miss Thompson

Harmonious Match

Dane Allred seeks to combine the best of podcasting and blogging in 800 word blogs turned into 5 minute podcasts. They are broadcast live every Sunday on KTKK AM 630 from 7 to 8 p.m. (Mountain Standard Time), and are also available at 1001Thanks.blogspot.com. Watch for his upcoming book, “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred”.

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Harmonious Match

It’s sad to watch the dating commercials on television. Everyone has a perfect match or they are looking for that one person who they can find harmony with, and live happily ever after. It seems to me that much of the romance in the world happens by accident, and you just have to be in the right place at the right time. Helen Reddy said it this way, “There is no magic person out there, no perfect human being out there waiting for you.” Sometimes it happens, and sometimes it doesn’t. Can computer dating find the perfect person for you?

A sad statistic was revealed recently which show from 20 to 40 percent of those registered for online dating services were already married. The other sad statistic is that 70 percent of those who use computers have tried the online dating sites. Maybe they work for some people, but I’m too old to know anything about computer dating.

I’m from the old school where chance encounters and random events seemed to draw two people together. I could have attended three different colleges, but I could only meet my wife at one of them. She had to stay in school a little longer than usual so I could show up. We happened to be in a live stage musical together and became friends. We were in another show later during the year. We started dating the next summer when we had a class together. There are so many random events, I don’t know I can say it was fate for us to be together. It just happened to work out.

If you are a female and looking to attract that special guy, I have only one piece of serious advice. Don’t play coy; let the guy know you are interested. Pay attention to him; touch his elbow, his arm, his back. Speaking as a man, we are pretty dense, and unless we are practically hit over the head, we really don’t think anyone is interested in us.

If you don’t believe this little admonition, look around at all those guys you think are great looking arm in arm with a female you think is ugly. It’s the only way to explain it. I taught a guy who sat by the same two girls every class. I wondered if there was something serious going on, but the girl I thought would be his first choice lost out to the girl I thought was less attractive. How? She let him know she was interested, and once a man knows there is a possibility of a relationship, we are pretty much sunk.

Ogden Nash has a nice saying about marriage and incompatibility. He said, “A little incompatibility is the spice of life, particularly if he has income and she is pattable.” That quote does give us a nice mental picture, and who is to say the rich man and the pattable woman can’t find perfect happiness together. Samuel Rogers has a warning for those who decide to marry. He said, “It doesn’t much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find the next morning that it is someone

else.” If you don’t believe this saying, just talk to anyone who has been together longer than 10 years. We can all change enough in 10 years to become a completely, totally unrecognizable person. My wife put our wedding picture up on the mantle recently, and I asked her to introduce me to the blond skinny guy she is next to in the picture. I told her that wasn’t me anymore. Luckily, she has adapted to the changes. Or as Nancy Astor said of marriage, “I married beneath me — all women do.”

Honore de Balzac said it this way: “Marriage is the end of man.” It sure was the end of that man I was, and I have to tell you, I am a lot happier after 30 years of marriage than I was after being single for the first 20 years. It’s like Benjamin Franklin was talking to my wife when he said, “Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, and half-shut afterwards.” Speaking as a man with imperfections, I want to tell my wife how glad I am she keeps her eyes half-shut. I also like what Benjamin Franklin said about husbands, “One good husband is worth two good wives; for the scarcer things are, the more they’re valued.” I just hope I fit into the “good husband” category.

As Helen Rowland put it, “When a girl marries, she exchanges the attentions of many men for the inattention of one.” I wish I was more attentive. But you may be more like Mae West. She said, “Marriage is a great institution, but I’m not ready for an institution yet.” Maybe you aren’t either.

Practicing Patience

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Dane Allred seeks to combine the best of podcasting and blogging in 800 word blogs turned into 5 minute podcasts. They are broadcast live every Sunday on KTKK AM 630 from 7 to 8 p.m. (Mountain Standard Time), and are also available at 1001Thanks.blogspot.com. Watch for his upcoming book, “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred”.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred

Practicing Patience


This last week I had to be patient, and I’m not really the most patient person in the world. I like to be doing things, and it’s hard for me to just sit and wait. I spent about 36 hours over 3 days just sitting and waiting. I used the time to write some of these episodes, and edit some past programs, but mostly it was just sitting around.

That’s one of the great things about teaching. If I’m not talking to the class, I could be walking around the class checking on how the students are doing. There are always papers to score and record, and getting ready for my next class is always lots of work. I need to admit I am a very bad student. I can’t really sit for extended periods of time, especially if I’m supposed to be listening to someone else. I can usually keep myself busy if I need to, but sitting around isn’t my favorite.

I do quite a bit of acting in movies and commercials, and those two activities take lots of patience. The shooting day is 12 hours long, and you are required to stay in the immediate area. For some commercials I’ve done, I’ve waiting 10 hours to do a 30 second piece, and then had to wait around for a couple more hours. The longest television shoot I’ve been to lasted 18 hours. I didn’t really do anything that day for the first 12 hours.

Camera work of any kind seems to take forever. The camera is set up, and the set is dressed. The lights are focused and adjusted, then adjusted some more. Stand-ins get to have the cameras focused on them so the real actors can keep studying their lines, and then the lights are adjusted some more. This is all for one shot, or one particular view of the scene, and for reverse shots, reaction shots and establishing shots, just repeat all of this over and over all day long. One of my favorite phrases to hear after working on a scene for what seems forever is “moving on”. That means the next scene is about to be set up. For actors that means go sit somewhere for an hour and we’ll call you when we’re ready.

I’ve been in about 20 movies and probably 30 commercials. The good news about shooting with video or film is the day usually ends, and you don’t have to keep doing the same thing day after day. I’ve also been in about 60 stage productions, which means as an actor you get to go to rehearsal day after day and do the same thing over and over again. Since I’m not a full-time professional stage actor, most of my rehearsals take place at night after a long day at work. My least favorite patience inducing necessity in stage productions is blocking, which means, “You stand here and move here.” Then after everyone knows where they are going to stand and where they are going to move, you get to rehearse it a few times.

Rehearsals then continue two, three or four times a week for a month, or two, or three. If it’s a musical, I get to torture the music director as they try to figure out how to get me to sing the right notes. Then you rehearse the songs a bunch, too. We won’t talk about how frustrating I am to choreographers. At the end the process is to make a bunch of people dancing and singing on the stage look like everything is happening quite spontaneously. In the end, it is a rewarding process since when the show starts it’s fun to perform. Of course in most shows you can’t always be on stage, so there are times when you have to be patient and wait for the next part. I’ve tried to think of a show where I have had to be the most patient. It was probably when I was playing a corpse in “The Devil and Daniel Webster”.

We were the dead jury who had to listen to a trial about Jabez Stone. Daniel Webster was defending him against the devil, and we had to stand and listen to the trial for 30 minutes. I was standing on a ladder the whole time and my insteps really hurt by the end of the trial. I patiently waited for 30 minutes to say “guilty” and then exit the stage and pull the rubber pieces off my face. I was glad we only had to perform three or four times. All of this practicing patience has made me more patient. But I still have a ways to go. But as Benjamin Franklin said, “He that can have patience can have what he will.” Got patience?

Abundance - Love - Feb 14

Abundance — Love — Feb 14

Each week on “Abundance” we celebrate one of the 1001 things I’m thankful for from my list of 1001Thanks. This week #620, Love is our topic. Some people say “Love makes the world go round” and “Love means never having to say you’re sorry”. Two thousand years ago, the Roman poet Virgil said, “Love conquers all things.” Let’s conquer this next hour together considering what love can and cannot do.

Our episodes today include: Love is Green, Who is the Master?, In Love With Being Alive, Junk Food Junkie, and you’ll hear that classic tale, "The Lady or the Tiger?" by Frank Stockton, and Lord Byron’s poem "She Walks in Beauty" and we may even have time to hear "The Bait" by John Donne.

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Junk Food Junkie

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Junk Food Junkie

I love food. My wife doesn’t really get how much I like being able to buy any kind of food I want and eat it anytime I want. She always tells me I should spend the money on clothes or knick-knacks. But that is where she gets her satisfaction, from being able to afford nice clothes and other things she wants. I just like to eat.

I’m not sure why I like buying food so much. It must be the consumer in me. I really don’t like to fix my own food and eat it. It would make a lot more sense to make my own food because then I could eat even more food.

But there is only so much food one person can eat, and I’m not sure why I like prepared food better. I think it must just be junk food that I like the best. When I was small, I loved to go to the convenience store and buy candy and pop. I finagled for every penny I could get; cashing pop bottles, selling off stuff I didn’t want any more to neighborhood kids, and even charging them to look through my telescope. My favorite part of the week was when I had enough to go buy something and eat it.

I could have saved up money and bought something to keep, but I just love to buy something and eat it. I think it makes me feel rich. If I can spend money on something like junk food, I must be rich.

There really are only three or four categories of junk food I really crave. I think I could eat potato chips every meal if my health would allow it. A real treat for me is a bag of Lay’s Potato Chips – the real ones, not the baked ones. The greasier my fingers get the better I feel. The saltier my mouth gets the more I like it. Once my face is puckered up from the salty greasiness, I really like to chase those lovely chips down with some kind of carbonated drink, especially Pepsi, or ideally Wild Cherry Pepsi. I used to drink the diet stuff, but now I’m back on full sugar dosage at every drink. It really doesn’t seem to make a difference in my weight, and the great satisfaction that sugar rush gives me is really worth more than I pay. But don’t tell the companies.

I think there really is a plan behind the management of my junk food eating habits. I even read a book decades ago which predicted just this kind of corporate manipulation of my tastes. The title of the book I can’t even remember, but I do remember the pattern the book talked about. Get the customer to eat something salty, then something sugary, and then something salty again. Sounds like my daily routine, doesn’t it.

I really don’t believe there is a conspiracy out there to get me to each chips and drink pop, but I there is, it is certainly working. I don’t mind admitting I’m a willing participant, and I really don’t think I’ll be changing my snacking habits any time soon. But I have cut back and I think the real reason I like fast food and junk food is not just that it easy and available, but I think I use these tasty treats as a reward for myself.

These little rewards are a strange thing. They really don’t amount to much, but I have found if I do those things I know I need to do each day, and then reward myself with a little treat, I feel better. Then I want to do more of those things I know I need to do, and another little reward greases the wheel again. It’s an automatic feedback loop which has worked very well for me, and I don’t plan to change the way I get things done anytime soon.

The simple things in life seem to me to be some of the most satisfying. Seeing a sunrise or a sunset, accomplishing the little things that need to get done so the big things also get done, and rewarding that good behavior with a bag of chips might seem like a simplistic approach to life. But I like it and encourage you to do the same. Looking to the future, I can see a happy group of over-achievers eagerly munching junk food as the progress of the world is measured in chips and pop. It seems like a simple solution to encourage all of us to do that little bit more which makes all the difference in the world. We may be a bag of potato chips and a soft drink away from solving your most important problem.

Long live junk food!!

Who is the Master?

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Who is the Master?

There is no love more true than that of a pet, and for a pet. There is something magical about interacting with a different species, often being the sole source of food and water, love and affection, and attention and care.

I’ve had many pets over the decades, starting with a grey and white Chihuahua. Cece was a wonderful pet, providing many hours of patient love and attention to me. She had puppies which we sold, and I went off to college and left her behind. I seem to have a natural ability to get along with dogs. There really have been very few dogs I haven’t been able to connect with, and pet almost as soon as we meet. There was one Doberman who wanted to bite me once when I was trying to deliver flowers, but luckily I had on tight enough pants the teeth just kept slipping off the denim. And then the owner answered the door.

My children grew up having pets around, and they really were members of the family. Some of them have been purebred, and others were mongrels. We seem to attract cats to our house, and since there are mice running around in the fields, we feed them and that makes them want to stay. I really don’t like cats as much as dogs, but don’t tell the cat who is living with us now. My daughter rescued him years ago from someone who couldn’t have a cat anymore. He stays outside and rubs up against me when I go outside, and likes to be petted. Most cats aren’t really that social around the dogs we nearly always have around.

Really the only dog who has bit the hand that feeds her was a cute little Schnauzer who had just been run over by a car. She was one of the sweetest dogs, and as she was crossing the street, someone who was texting didn’t see her and both my wife and I watched as this poor little dog rolled under the car. I had read you really shouldn’t pick up a dog who is hurt, but when one of your pets is hurt, most of the common sense we have goes away. As I tried to pick up this dog, she firmly latched onto my hand, then bit my wife and bit me again. I told my wife to go get a towel we could wrap her in, and we took her to a vet, but she was too seriously injured and died shortly after the accident.

When the kids have grown and left, sometimes the dogs become the kids. The shock of seeing this small innocent animal killed was too much of a shock for my wife not to replace the dog, and the very next day she drove for several hours to get our newest addition to the family.

The small Maltese has been a wonderful ray of sunshine in our house, though we still miss the other dog. She gets along with the cat, who likes to paw at her, and I think the cat might think this small dog is really a white rat. The other dog gets along with her really well, and though the older dog is a border collie, she thinks she is also a lap dog.

The Border collie only wants to serve, and since there are no sheep around to chase, she often herds me to the backyard where she loves to play. Once this dog learned to catch a Frisbee, there was no stopping her insistence that anytime is playtime. I once tested her while I was watering the garden, and kept throwing the Frisbee, trying to determine how long it would be before she got tired of it. She faithfully brought that plastic disc back every time for over two hours, only stopping briefly to dunk herself in our small pond so she could cool off. I got tired before she did, and I think she would have rather dropped dead from exhaustion than stop catching the Frisbee.

So what does a house with two humans and two dogs look like? I wonder who the master is sometimes. I have to check and make sure there is food and water, and if the food runs out, I am the one who has to go to the store and buy more. When the dogs have been good, they get treats, but I don’t get treats for training them so well. It would be nice to have someone scratch my every itch, but they don’t even worry about if I have an itch. They just want to be scratched and petted, and would like nothing better than a continuous head to toe massage.

I think I want to be someone’s pet. Where do I apply?

She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron George Gordon

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She Walks In Beauty

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

The Bait by John Donne

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This is another episode of "Literature Out Loud" from the weekly program "Abundance". As the host, Dane Allred reads selections from famous literature each week on www.k-talk.com from 7 to 8 pm Mountain Standard Time every Sunday.

The Bait
by John Donne

Come live with me and be my love
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river -- whispering run
Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun
And there th' enamoured fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou darken'st both
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare or windowy net.

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait:
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.

The Lady or the Tiger by Frank Stockton

This is another episode of "Literature Out Loud" from the weekly program "Abundance". As the host, Dane Allred reads selections from famous literature each week on www.k-talk.com from 7 to 8 pm Mountain Standard Time every Sunday.

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The Lady or the Tiger?

by Frank Stockton

In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors, were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.

Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.

But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.

When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king's arena, a structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism.

When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and respected, should have merited so dire a fate.

But, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his bride to his home.

This was the king's semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not know out of which door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased, without having the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they were positively determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king's arena.

The institution was a very popular one. When the people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and pleased, and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?

This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid fancies, and with a soul so fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king's arena. This, of course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after years such things became commonplace enough, but then were in no slight degree novel and startling.

The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be selected for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for him a different destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor anyone else, thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out, the youth would be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.

The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful portals, so terrible in their similarity.

All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!

As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king's arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had ever before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person had done - she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold, and the power of a woman's will, had brought the secret to the princess.

And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now and then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent door.

When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she sat there, paler and whiter than anyone in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she would succeed.

Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: "Which?" It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.

Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.

He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.

Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady?

The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to answer. It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?

How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel fangs of the tiger!

But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her hair, when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!

Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?

And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!

Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.

The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door - the lady, or the tiger?