Here's another Thanksgiving offering from Abraham Lincoln.
Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation
By the President of the United States of America.
A Proclamation.
The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God.
In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union.
Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consiousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.
No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People.
I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.
In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.
Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the Unites States the Eighty-eighth.
By the President: Abraham Lincoln
William H. Seward,
Secretary of State
Dane Allred reads Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation on his program "Abundance".
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
They're Not Mad At Us -- A Funny Think Happened on the Way to Dane Allred
They’re Not Mad At Us
We were vacationing in Washington D.C. with our children, who were probably eight and eleven at the time. They were pretty young to be being dragged around all of the National Galleries, but my wife was determined to see all she could since we were there.
I was at meetings most of the time, and besides not being able to help her convince two small children the Rembrandt’s in the next room really were interesting, I tried to save some money by putting them up outside of town.
They were riding the subway into town, seeing the sights and then going back to the hotel, which wasn’t in the most upscale part of town. I, of course, had a rental car so I could get about town, and eventually my meetings were over and we were able to spend some time together as a family.
I enjoyed seeing the national monuments, but I think in our minds they are always more grand than they appear in real life. For some reason, I had imagined the Lincoln Memorial to be much larger than it is, so when we walked up the steps and saw President Lincoln, I was kind of underwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong; I was impressed with the grandeur of our nation’s capital, but I’m just a poor country boy from Utah, and I guess I expected more.
The collection of things to see in Washington D.C. is really endless. I could spend a month in the various Smithsonian museums, and though my wife is more of an art lover than I, we did get to see some great works of art. We went to the Kennedy Center and watched a show called “Once On This Island”. I liked it so much I directed it at my high school a few years later.
I enjoy seeing all the tourist souvenirs available when I travel, and D.C. was no different. My favorite was the Washington D.C. Polo club shirts. They may have had a polo club, but I doubted it, and I thought the satire was fun. Some of the area really is blighted, and you would think there would be a better economic plan to stimulate D.C., but I don’t think a polo club would really help much.
There were lots of fun things to do and see, but a small family has a pretty regular feeding schedule. Most of our vacations are planned around where we will be when we want to eat, and both of our daughters were very picky eaters. They weren’t the regular McDonald’s kids who wanted a Happy Meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We would go to Wendy’s and they would order the baked potato. They liked soup when we went to a fancy restaurant. So finding places in our nation’s capital which they would like turned into a scavenger hunt.
I had heard there was a very good Chinese restaurant a few blocks from where we were doing our tourist stuff one morning. Again, this restaurant wasn’t in the nicest part of town, but that seems to be the case with many great restaurants. As we pulled our two girls along with us, we noticed a small crowd was on the street just ahead.
For those who haven’t had the chance to visit the inner city of one of our major metropolitan areas, let me describe the scene. There is trash strewn about, and a general lack of care about yards and business buildings. There was lots of graffiti, but you get used to that after a while. But the sight ahead of us was not one my small town Utah wife had seen very often.
A large group of African-Americans were gathered around three people who were about to have a fight. There were two large women who were fighting over a skinny man. The rest of the people were either there for moral support, or just to watch the fight. As we crossed the street, only half a block from the restaurant, the shouting had reached maximum decibels, and the fight would be starting any second.
My wife hesitated and said she thought maybe we should go somewhere else to eat. I was determined, and we were only yards away from the restaurant and had already built up some good momentum as we walked.
“They’re not mad at us”, I assured her. And it was true. The agitated crowd ignored the four of us as we went in and had a great lunch.
When we came back out, the streets were empty.
I turned to my wife and smugly said, “I told you they weren’t mad at us.”
She gave me the “you are lucky this turned out all right” look.
She’s right. I am a lucky guy.
Dane Allred's podcast of this blog on his program "Abundance".
We were vacationing in Washington D.C. with our children, who were probably eight and eleven at the time. They were pretty young to be being dragged around all of the National Galleries, but my wife was determined to see all she could since we were there.
I was at meetings most of the time, and besides not being able to help her convince two small children the Rembrandt’s in the next room really were interesting, I tried to save some money by putting them up outside of town.
They were riding the subway into town, seeing the sights and then going back to the hotel, which wasn’t in the most upscale part of town. I, of course, had a rental car so I could get about town, and eventually my meetings were over and we were able to spend some time together as a family.
I enjoyed seeing the national monuments, but I think in our minds they are always more grand than they appear in real life. For some reason, I had imagined the Lincoln Memorial to be much larger than it is, so when we walked up the steps and saw President Lincoln, I was kind of underwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong; I was impressed with the grandeur of our nation’s capital, but I’m just a poor country boy from Utah, and I guess I expected more.
The collection of things to see in Washington D.C. is really endless. I could spend a month in the various Smithsonian museums, and though my wife is more of an art lover than I, we did get to see some great works of art. We went to the Kennedy Center and watched a show called “Once On This Island”. I liked it so much I directed it at my high school a few years later.
I enjoy seeing all the tourist souvenirs available when I travel, and D.C. was no different. My favorite was the Washington D.C. Polo club shirts. They may have had a polo club, but I doubted it, and I thought the satire was fun. Some of the area really is blighted, and you would think there would be a better economic plan to stimulate D.C., but I don’t think a polo club would really help much.
There were lots of fun things to do and see, but a small family has a pretty regular feeding schedule. Most of our vacations are planned around where we will be when we want to eat, and both of our daughters were very picky eaters. They weren’t the regular McDonald’s kids who wanted a Happy Meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We would go to Wendy’s and they would order the baked potato. They liked soup when we went to a fancy restaurant. So finding places in our nation’s capital which they would like turned into a scavenger hunt.
I had heard there was a very good Chinese restaurant a few blocks from where we were doing our tourist stuff one morning. Again, this restaurant wasn’t in the nicest part of town, but that seems to be the case with many great restaurants. As we pulled our two girls along with us, we noticed a small crowd was on the street just ahead.
For those who haven’t had the chance to visit the inner city of one of our major metropolitan areas, let me describe the scene. There is trash strewn about, and a general lack of care about yards and business buildings. There was lots of graffiti, but you get used to that after a while. But the sight ahead of us was not one my small town Utah wife had seen very often.
A large group of African-Americans were gathered around three people who were about to have a fight. There were two large women who were fighting over a skinny man. The rest of the people were either there for moral support, or just to watch the fight. As we crossed the street, only half a block from the restaurant, the shouting had reached maximum decibels, and the fight would be starting any second.
My wife hesitated and said she thought maybe we should go somewhere else to eat. I was determined, and we were only yards away from the restaurant and had already built up some good momentum as we walked.
“They’re not mad at us”, I assured her. And it was true. The agitated crowd ignored the four of us as we went in and had a great lunch.
When we came back out, the streets were empty.
I turned to my wife and smugly said, “I told you they weren’t mad at us.”
She gave me the “you are lucky this turned out all right” look.
She’s right. I am a lucky guy.
Dane Allred's podcast of this blog on his program "Abundance".
Toy Gremlins -- A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred
Toy Gremlins
I like being a father. It’s a really fun job most of the time, but even when you are in the middle of hard times, you are still glad to be a dad. The old saying is true, “Children are a poor man’s wealth.” I would argue you don’t have to be poor to appreciate the riches children can bring.
I’m not the world’s best dad. When we first had children, I was more interested in playing video games than bringing home formula for the baby. It’s a true story, and it doesn’t make me very proud, but I have tried to be a better father since then. My wife and I are truly blessed to be school teachers, especially since we had the same vacation days as our children. It meant we could spend not only some quality time with each other, but we could find some quantity time as well.
I have a sense of humor, which sometimes is at the expense of the kids. They like my “dad humor”, even though it usually is something stupid. For example, to keep myself entertained while driving, I like to reinterpret the road signs. If the sign says “Shoulder Work”, I usually rotate my shoulder around and say out loud to no one in particular, “Yes”. As in, “Yes, my shoulder is working fine, and I appreciate the state being interested in my health.” I take it personally when I am driving down the road and I see the sign that says “Dip”. I feel sorry for the person standing at the side of the road after I see the sign, “Dip Ahead”.
When I see the sign “Slow - Children Playing” I regard it as a cruel statement about someone’s kids, and I especially feel bad when the kids learn to read and have to be confronted with that sign the rest of their lives.
After a sample of my humor, the following story will make more sense. If you remember the movie “Gremlins”, there is a character in the show called “Stripe”. This movie is basically about how gremlins can wreck havoc on a town. The cute gremlin is “Gizmo”, but if you violate the rules about giving him water, food after midnight, or exposing him to bright light, then “Gizmo” multiplies into mischievous and dangerous gremlins, including the viscious “Stripe”.
I highly recommend this show if you haven’t seen it. Of course, my oldest daughter saw this show with us when she was three years old, and soon the toy shelves were crowded with little stuffed gremlins for parent to shower on their over-indulged children.
I was in my twenties, and not the richest dad in town, and there was no way I was going to buy one of these over-priced items for my kids. But that didn’t stop me from playing with it at the store. I did remember how frightened my daughter had been when she watched “Gremlins”, especially of the wicked gremlin called “Stripe”. I bet you can almost see where this is going.
So there we are shopping in the toy store, filled with thousands of items no kid ever really needs but can somehow convince you they can’t live without. Usually a tantrum or two is thrown in the store, which boosts sales and makes the clerks happy. But when I looked at the price tag for “Stripe”, I knew there was no way this stuffed animal was going home with us. But that doesn’t mean I can’t create a permanently scarring memory for my daughter.
She is just around the corner from me and hasn’t seen the stuffed gremlins yet. This is the daughter who complained when she got the “Snuggles” bear from the fabric softener commercial. She looked at that stuffed animal and said, “It doesn’t talk.” So let’s just say she is still in the age bracket where toys should be alive.
I grab “Stripe” by the back of his neck and get ready for the surprise. She looks trustingly up at her loving father, and what does he do? I jabbed “Stripe” in her face, and I’m sure I growled or did some stupid thing like that.
Of course she begins to scream, and continues screaming as she turns and runs right out of the store. Luckily my wife is standing nearby, and after she gives me a dirty look, she runs after our firstborn and catches up with her halfway across the mall.
What am I doing? I am paralyzed with laughter. I put Stripe back and continue to pay for this moment of idiocy even today. I reminded my wife of the story and she called me a “jerk”.
I like being a father. Even though sometimes I am a jerk.
I like being a father. It’s a really fun job most of the time, but even when you are in the middle of hard times, you are still glad to be a dad. The old saying is true, “Children are a poor man’s wealth.” I would argue you don’t have to be poor to appreciate the riches children can bring.
I’m not the world’s best dad. When we first had children, I was more interested in playing video games than bringing home formula for the baby. It’s a true story, and it doesn’t make me very proud, but I have tried to be a better father since then. My wife and I are truly blessed to be school teachers, especially since we had the same vacation days as our children. It meant we could spend not only some quality time with each other, but we could find some quantity time as well.
I have a sense of humor, which sometimes is at the expense of the kids. They like my “dad humor”, even though it usually is something stupid. For example, to keep myself entertained while driving, I like to reinterpret the road signs. If the sign says “Shoulder Work”, I usually rotate my shoulder around and say out loud to no one in particular, “Yes”. As in, “Yes, my shoulder is working fine, and I appreciate the state being interested in my health.” I take it personally when I am driving down the road and I see the sign that says “Dip”. I feel sorry for the person standing at the side of the road after I see the sign, “Dip Ahead”.
When I see the sign “Slow - Children Playing” I regard it as a cruel statement about someone’s kids, and I especially feel bad when the kids learn to read and have to be confronted with that sign the rest of their lives.
After a sample of my humor, the following story will make more sense. If you remember the movie “Gremlins”, there is a character in the show called “Stripe”. This movie is basically about how gremlins can wreck havoc on a town. The cute gremlin is “Gizmo”, but if you violate the rules about giving him water, food after midnight, or exposing him to bright light, then “Gizmo” multiplies into mischievous and dangerous gremlins, including the viscious “Stripe”.
I highly recommend this show if you haven’t seen it. Of course, my oldest daughter saw this show with us when she was three years old, and soon the toy shelves were crowded with little stuffed gremlins for parent to shower on their over-indulged children.
I was in my twenties, and not the richest dad in town, and there was no way I was going to buy one of these over-priced items for my kids. But that didn’t stop me from playing with it at the store. I did remember how frightened my daughter had been when she watched “Gremlins”, especially of the wicked gremlin called “Stripe”. I bet you can almost see where this is going.
So there we are shopping in the toy store, filled with thousands of items no kid ever really needs but can somehow convince you they can’t live without. Usually a tantrum or two is thrown in the store, which boosts sales and makes the clerks happy. But when I looked at the price tag for “Stripe”, I knew there was no way this stuffed animal was going home with us. But that doesn’t mean I can’t create a permanently scarring memory for my daughter.
She is just around the corner from me and hasn’t seen the stuffed gremlins yet. This is the daughter who complained when she got the “Snuggles” bear from the fabric softener commercial. She looked at that stuffed animal and said, “It doesn’t talk.” So let’s just say she is still in the age bracket where toys should be alive.
I grab “Stripe” by the back of his neck and get ready for the surprise. She looks trustingly up at her loving father, and what does he do? I jabbed “Stripe” in her face, and I’m sure I growled or did some stupid thing like that.
Of course she begins to scream, and continues screaming as she turns and runs right out of the store. Luckily my wife is standing nearby, and after she gives me a dirty look, she runs after our firstborn and catches up with her halfway across the mall.
What am I doing? I am paralyzed with laughter. I put Stripe back and continue to pay for this moment of idiocy even today. I reminded my wife of the story and she called me a “jerk”.
I like being a father. Even though sometimes I am a jerk.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Forget Your Anniversary -- A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred
Forget Your Anniversary
I’ve been married more than three decades. I remember our first anniversary, and I was so clueless I took my wife to Park City. There are lots of upscale shops there in case you’ve never been, and I thought I was being creative. I told my lovely bride to take the checkbook and buy anything she wanted. She cried, but not for joy. She wanted a well-thought out present; one that I had put some time and thought into. I can’t remember what happened after that, but I guess the good news is that the fiasco didn’t end in divorce.
Fast forward a few years, and my wife tells me now if I did the same thing she would be off and spending like the roadrunner. Of course I have a few more years under my belt now, and there is no way I would ever make that offer again. Spending years together can teach you lots of stuff.
Recently we were about to celebrate our 32nd anniversary. I had even put some thought into what to do, and we had both discussed the fact we should probably buy a combined gift. That’s as far as the discussion ever got, but we both remembered our anniversary was fast approaching.
I was going to be busy with two different things going on at school, and we are both very involved people. Suffice it say we sometimes get so busy we neglect remembering certain things. Like anniversaries.
On October 14th, 2009, we both got up to get ready for school. This is the day of our anniversary, and neither of us said a word about it as we spent about an hour together before going to work. So far so good. If neither of us remember, then there is no one to blame.
As my day rolls along, one of the students in my first class asks me the date so he can write it on his assignment. “I think it’s October…14th,” I said. Then to no one in particular I also said “Why does that sound so familiar?” My voice trailed off, and while I knew it must be something important, I went on to the business at hand.
My wife is at her school and remembers our anniversary at lunch, sending me a text message wishing me a happy anniversary. Unfortunately, I had neglected to take my phone to work. The message arrived at home, and I was still clueless.
After lunch I am asked the same question by another student. “What is the date?” This time I didn’t hesitate and succinctly said “October 14th…”, followed by the words, “Oh, crap.” The students look up at me and ask what’s wrong.
“It’s my anniversary,” I sheepishly said to the class. Of course they asked me if I remembered to do anything, and I had to say no. But then I also remembered I was teaching a workshop my wife would be attending. My wife had volunteered me to teach the class, and she would be one of the students. I had about 3 hours to get something, and my class suggested I get some roses on the way. I followed their suggestion, and had a dozen roses on the way.
We were meeting at a different school, so I prayed I would arrive first. As luck would have it, I did get there first, and was able to give her flowers as she arrived. She was pleasantly surprised, and insisted she had remembered first, which her text would prove.
I don’t think it was really enough, since she ignored what I was teaching to the other people. She was checking her e-mail, not following directions and ignoring me. Teachers really do make the worst students, and when the teacher forgets an anniversary the student may be justified in misbehaving. But if you think about it, she really didn’t need to pay attention in class. She knows I will show her what we learned sometime in the future when she wants to learn it.
We were both dumfounded that we had completely spaced our anniversary. I think it may have had something to do with the fact we couldn’t celebrate until the weekend since I was also teaching public speaking later that same night. And the next night. So maybe the pressure was off.
But later in the week we went to one of our favorite restaurants and had some good company and some good food. It makes me wonder if there are marriages out there which have ended because one or the other partner forgot the anniversary.
What is the end result when both people forget? Now you know the answer. Both people sheepishly admit they forgot and they have dinner later.
I hope I don’t forget again.
I’ve been married more than three decades. I remember our first anniversary, and I was so clueless I took my wife to Park City. There are lots of upscale shops there in case you’ve never been, and I thought I was being creative. I told my lovely bride to take the checkbook and buy anything she wanted. She cried, but not for joy. She wanted a well-thought out present; one that I had put some time and thought into. I can’t remember what happened after that, but I guess the good news is that the fiasco didn’t end in divorce.
Fast forward a few years, and my wife tells me now if I did the same thing she would be off and spending like the roadrunner. Of course I have a few more years under my belt now, and there is no way I would ever make that offer again. Spending years together can teach you lots of stuff.
Recently we were about to celebrate our 32nd anniversary. I had even put some thought into what to do, and we had both discussed the fact we should probably buy a combined gift. That’s as far as the discussion ever got, but we both remembered our anniversary was fast approaching.
I was going to be busy with two different things going on at school, and we are both very involved people. Suffice it say we sometimes get so busy we neglect remembering certain things. Like anniversaries.
On October 14th, 2009, we both got up to get ready for school. This is the day of our anniversary, and neither of us said a word about it as we spent about an hour together before going to work. So far so good. If neither of us remember, then there is no one to blame.
As my day rolls along, one of the students in my first class asks me the date so he can write it on his assignment. “I think it’s October…14th,” I said. Then to no one in particular I also said “Why does that sound so familiar?” My voice trailed off, and while I knew it must be something important, I went on to the business at hand.
My wife is at her school and remembers our anniversary at lunch, sending me a text message wishing me a happy anniversary. Unfortunately, I had neglected to take my phone to work. The message arrived at home, and I was still clueless.
After lunch I am asked the same question by another student. “What is the date?” This time I didn’t hesitate and succinctly said “October 14th…”, followed by the words, “Oh, crap.” The students look up at me and ask what’s wrong.
“It’s my anniversary,” I sheepishly said to the class. Of course they asked me if I remembered to do anything, and I had to say no. But then I also remembered I was teaching a workshop my wife would be attending. My wife had volunteered me to teach the class, and she would be one of the students. I had about 3 hours to get something, and my class suggested I get some roses on the way. I followed their suggestion, and had a dozen roses on the way.
We were meeting at a different school, so I prayed I would arrive first. As luck would have it, I did get there first, and was able to give her flowers as she arrived. She was pleasantly surprised, and insisted she had remembered first, which her text would prove.
I don’t think it was really enough, since she ignored what I was teaching to the other people. She was checking her e-mail, not following directions and ignoring me. Teachers really do make the worst students, and when the teacher forgets an anniversary the student may be justified in misbehaving. But if you think about it, she really didn’t need to pay attention in class. She knows I will show her what we learned sometime in the future when she wants to learn it.
We were both dumfounded that we had completely spaced our anniversary. I think it may have had something to do with the fact we couldn’t celebrate until the weekend since I was also teaching public speaking later that same night. And the next night. So maybe the pressure was off.
But later in the week we went to one of our favorite restaurants and had some good company and some good food. It makes me wonder if there are marriages out there which have ended because one or the other partner forgot the anniversary.
What is the end result when both people forget? Now you know the answer. Both people sheepishly admit they forgot and they have dinner later.
I hope I don’t forget again.
Blithe Skip -- A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred
Blithe Skip
One of the dangers of live stage performance is you really never know what is going to happen. My favorite story about skipping around in the text of a play is from “Blithe Spirit”. If you’re not familiar with the show, there are movies available, and this is a play which is produced in local theatres frequently.
The basic story is about a man who is haunted by his first wife while his second wife can’t hear what is going on. Mix in a séance, a mystic, an older couple and a maid, and you have the plot. As the haunting goes on, there are mix-ups and some really hilarious dialogue, especially when the husband is talking to the first wife while the second wife thinks he is talking to her.
Usually in a play, there is plenty of exposition at the beginning to get everyone on the same page. I’ve even noticed that in most plays there is a significant part of the beginning which is really unnecessary. Even Shakespeare begins his plays with some throw-away scenes and characters. Why would this be?
I have a theory. I don’t think the audiences in Shakespeare’s day were all that different than today’s audiences. One common problem with audiences in every theatre I’ve acted in is latecomers. I’ve probably acted in 20 or 30 different venues, and every show there are five or ten people who are late.
So what does a playwright do? Make the beginning unnecessary for the rest of the show. Think about Hamlet. There is a scene with the Ghost of Hamlet’s father and a couple of guards. They decide to tell Hamlet, and a couple of scenes later, we are back with the ghost.
It’s the same with Blithe Spirit. My character and the girl playing my wife ask a bunch of questions which the husband answers. We are to discuss what is coming up later in the show and give the background about the two wives and the husband.
I was standing on stage with the male lead and the girl playing my wife. She looks at me and has that “deer in the headlights” kind of look, and skips seven pages of the script. I knew what had just happened, and the woman who was to make the next entrance, which wasn’t supposed to happen for seven more pages, heard her cue. She was galloping to her entrance from the back corner backstage, and since the actress who usually plays this part is, how can I say this diplomatically, supposed to be a larger actress. I could hear her running as fast as her short legs could carry her. The audience was treated to a ferocious pounding backstage, but had no clue why.
I had the most stage experience of the three of us, and both of the other actors on stage looked at me with a strange helpless look that told me I was now in charge. They really had no clue what to do, so I did my best to get us back to the details we had just skipped.
Of course the audience had no idea what had just happened. But it made it look like I had just forgotten my lines. I struggled to get the other actors back on track. Every minute or so, I had to initiate another section to remind them where we were going.
So after a torturous 10 minutes or so which seemed like an hour, we arrived back at the point where we had begun. The proper cue was given, and the entrance was made at the right time. I think this is one of the great benefits of being an actor, and doing live theatre.
Think about it this way. If you can deal with this kind of pressure on a stage with hundreds of people watching you, do you really think someone can walk up and surprise you? I have students who try their best to catch me off guard with some strange statement, and all it makes me do is quickly respond with the perfect comeback. Most of my students know not to challenge my superiority in the quick response which turns the table. I have actually accused some people of being the best foil or “straight man” I could ever want, since most of what they say seems like a set up for a joke. Here’s a lame example.
“Did you get a haircut?”
“Nope, I got them all cut. It’s more economical.”
I know it’s not clever. It’s what my daughter calls “Dad humor”. Here’s a better one.
When someone asks me if they “can” go to the bathroom, I tell them, “I don’t know. Go find out.”
They usually can, but I don’t want to know about it.
One of the dangers of live stage performance is you really never know what is going to happen. My favorite story about skipping around in the text of a play is from “Blithe Spirit”. If you’re not familiar with the show, there are movies available, and this is a play which is produced in local theatres frequently.
The basic story is about a man who is haunted by his first wife while his second wife can’t hear what is going on. Mix in a séance, a mystic, an older couple and a maid, and you have the plot. As the haunting goes on, there are mix-ups and some really hilarious dialogue, especially when the husband is talking to the first wife while the second wife thinks he is talking to her.
Usually in a play, there is plenty of exposition at the beginning to get everyone on the same page. I’ve even noticed that in most plays there is a significant part of the beginning which is really unnecessary. Even Shakespeare begins his plays with some throw-away scenes and characters. Why would this be?
I have a theory. I don’t think the audiences in Shakespeare’s day were all that different than today’s audiences. One common problem with audiences in every theatre I’ve acted in is latecomers. I’ve probably acted in 20 or 30 different venues, and every show there are five or ten people who are late.
So what does a playwright do? Make the beginning unnecessary for the rest of the show. Think about Hamlet. There is a scene with the Ghost of Hamlet’s father and a couple of guards. They decide to tell Hamlet, and a couple of scenes later, we are back with the ghost.
It’s the same with Blithe Spirit. My character and the girl playing my wife ask a bunch of questions which the husband answers. We are to discuss what is coming up later in the show and give the background about the two wives and the husband.
I was standing on stage with the male lead and the girl playing my wife. She looks at me and has that “deer in the headlights” kind of look, and skips seven pages of the script. I knew what had just happened, and the woman who was to make the next entrance, which wasn’t supposed to happen for seven more pages, heard her cue. She was galloping to her entrance from the back corner backstage, and since the actress who usually plays this part is, how can I say this diplomatically, supposed to be a larger actress. I could hear her running as fast as her short legs could carry her. The audience was treated to a ferocious pounding backstage, but had no clue why.
I had the most stage experience of the three of us, and both of the other actors on stage looked at me with a strange helpless look that told me I was now in charge. They really had no clue what to do, so I did my best to get us back to the details we had just skipped.
Of course the audience had no idea what had just happened. But it made it look like I had just forgotten my lines. I struggled to get the other actors back on track. Every minute or so, I had to initiate another section to remind them where we were going.
So after a torturous 10 minutes or so which seemed like an hour, we arrived back at the point where we had begun. The proper cue was given, and the entrance was made at the right time. I think this is one of the great benefits of being an actor, and doing live theatre.
Think about it this way. If you can deal with this kind of pressure on a stage with hundreds of people watching you, do you really think someone can walk up and surprise you? I have students who try their best to catch me off guard with some strange statement, and all it makes me do is quickly respond with the perfect comeback. Most of my students know not to challenge my superiority in the quick response which turns the table. I have actually accused some people of being the best foil or “straight man” I could ever want, since most of what they say seems like a set up for a joke. Here’s a lame example.
“Did you get a haircut?”
“Nope, I got them all cut. It’s more economical.”
I know it’s not clever. It’s what my daughter calls “Dad humor”. Here’s a better one.
When someone asks me if they “can” go to the bathroom, I tell them, “I don’t know. Go find out.”
They usually can, but I don’t want to know about it.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Lost Toenail -- A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred
Lost Toenail
It was the sixties. I was probably nine or ten, and liked being a daredevil. As kids we used to climb way up in trees to make tree houses out of scavenged pieces of wood. We were in an area where new houses were being built, and stray lumber was all over the neighborhood. They were never really completed, but it was fun to see if you could carry a big piece of wood up the tree and not fall. It’s amazing none of us ever fell and broke our necks.
I’m speaking about a time 40 years ago when kids got to run around the neighborhood without a parent hovering close by. We would play baseball for hours and never see a parent. My friend Sonny Carter and I would wander the fields turning over old pieces of wood to catch mice with our bare hands. If you want to try this highly satisfying adventure, remember to push your knuckles over their neck so they can’t bite your fingers. We never hurt the mice, but it was fun to see if we could catch them.
I also remember catching drones with our bare hands. Drones don’t have stingers, since their job is to keep the hive cool by beating their wings. There was a camper parked in Mark Tuttle’s driveway and we decided it would be a good idea to catch the drones, roll the window to the camper open a bit and trap the bees behind the glass and between the screen. For some reason, this was fun, and amazingly, no one got stung.
I was also one of the first adopters of the new skateboard technologies of the sixties. How I never got a broken arm is another miracle. We’re not talking neoprene wheels like the boards have today. The wheels were seriously Fred Flintstone rock-like wheels. When you hit a small pebble with these rock wheels, the board stopped immediately and you went flying. We thought it was fun.
I played Little League, so when we weren’t playing a game with another team or making our own game in the neighborhood, we practiced in the back yard.
Unfortunately, little brothers like to hang around their older brothers, and Patrick Tuttle was behind me one time when I was taking a heroic swing with a baseball bat. I broke his nose. I felt terrible, but nobody blamed me for the injury, even though it was my fault. We were boys, and this was what boys did back in the sixties.
We even thought it was cool when a giant rat was found in one of the garages in the neighborhood. None of us had ever seen a real live rat – sure we had seen mice, but this was a rat! I don’t really remember seeing it, but we spent an afternoon waiting for the adult who was trying to kill it with a bat to bring us out the evidence. I think they let us watch as the dead rat was carried to the garbage.
A side note will give you an idea how suspect boys with imagination can be. I had been practicing magic tricks in my front yard, waving my magic wand mysteriously as Debbie Radmall rode by on her bicycle. Evil boys from the sixties obviously have magic powers, because as she rode by her back tire popped with a loud bang. She glared at me, looked at her flat tire, gave me another dirty look and walked her bike home without a word. I know she thought I had given her a flat tire, but I knew I hadn’t. There was no way to convince her otherwise, so I didn’t try.
So when another chance to impress the ladies of the neighborhood came along, it was hard to resist. I was riding my stylish stingray bicycle, but I had forgotten to wear my shoes. It’s easy to ride without shoes, since the pokey ten speed pedals were a couple of years in my future. But the road doesn’t care if you aren’t wearing shoes, because as I sped up to an impressive speed and zoomed by the local females, I put my foot a little bit too low on the pedal. A sickening scrape and immediate pain told me this was not to be a day of astounding bicycle gymnastics. I put on my best game face and road back to the house grimacing.
The toe pounded furiously, and after a couple of days, blood was building up behind the toenail and my dad thought a good way to relieve the pain would be to heat a needle and push it through the toenail. The blood did come rushing out and it did relieve the pain.
The toenail fell off a week later.
It was the sixties. I was probably nine or ten, and liked being a daredevil. As kids we used to climb way up in trees to make tree houses out of scavenged pieces of wood. We were in an area where new houses were being built, and stray lumber was all over the neighborhood. They were never really completed, but it was fun to see if you could carry a big piece of wood up the tree and not fall. It’s amazing none of us ever fell and broke our necks.
I’m speaking about a time 40 years ago when kids got to run around the neighborhood without a parent hovering close by. We would play baseball for hours and never see a parent. My friend Sonny Carter and I would wander the fields turning over old pieces of wood to catch mice with our bare hands. If you want to try this highly satisfying adventure, remember to push your knuckles over their neck so they can’t bite your fingers. We never hurt the mice, but it was fun to see if we could catch them.
I also remember catching drones with our bare hands. Drones don’t have stingers, since their job is to keep the hive cool by beating their wings. There was a camper parked in Mark Tuttle’s driveway and we decided it would be a good idea to catch the drones, roll the window to the camper open a bit and trap the bees behind the glass and between the screen. For some reason, this was fun, and amazingly, no one got stung.
I was also one of the first adopters of the new skateboard technologies of the sixties. How I never got a broken arm is another miracle. We’re not talking neoprene wheels like the boards have today. The wheels were seriously Fred Flintstone rock-like wheels. When you hit a small pebble with these rock wheels, the board stopped immediately and you went flying. We thought it was fun.
I played Little League, so when we weren’t playing a game with another team or making our own game in the neighborhood, we practiced in the back yard.
Unfortunately, little brothers like to hang around their older brothers, and Patrick Tuttle was behind me one time when I was taking a heroic swing with a baseball bat. I broke his nose. I felt terrible, but nobody blamed me for the injury, even though it was my fault. We were boys, and this was what boys did back in the sixties.
We even thought it was cool when a giant rat was found in one of the garages in the neighborhood. None of us had ever seen a real live rat – sure we had seen mice, but this was a rat! I don’t really remember seeing it, but we spent an afternoon waiting for the adult who was trying to kill it with a bat to bring us out the evidence. I think they let us watch as the dead rat was carried to the garbage.
A side note will give you an idea how suspect boys with imagination can be. I had been practicing magic tricks in my front yard, waving my magic wand mysteriously as Debbie Radmall rode by on her bicycle. Evil boys from the sixties obviously have magic powers, because as she rode by her back tire popped with a loud bang. She glared at me, looked at her flat tire, gave me another dirty look and walked her bike home without a word. I know she thought I had given her a flat tire, but I knew I hadn’t. There was no way to convince her otherwise, so I didn’t try.
So when another chance to impress the ladies of the neighborhood came along, it was hard to resist. I was riding my stylish stingray bicycle, but I had forgotten to wear my shoes. It’s easy to ride without shoes, since the pokey ten speed pedals were a couple of years in my future. But the road doesn’t care if you aren’t wearing shoes, because as I sped up to an impressive speed and zoomed by the local females, I put my foot a little bit too low on the pedal. A sickening scrape and immediate pain told me this was not to be a day of astounding bicycle gymnastics. I put on my best game face and road back to the house grimacing.
The toe pounded furiously, and after a couple of days, blood was building up behind the toenail and my dad thought a good way to relieve the pain would be to heat a needle and push it through the toenail. The blood did come rushing out and it did relieve the pain.
The toenail fell off a week later.
Omelets in Cincinnati -- A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Dane Allred
Omelets in Cincinnati
This story takes place more than three decades ago, so I probably shouldn’t name cities. Things may have changed, and I don’t want the people in Cincinnati angry about something that happened in the ‘70’s. I was in Ohio for a national meeting of high school students from all over the country. I spent a week there, and was preparing to go visit my great-grandmother in Kentucky. The bus ticket had been purchased, and as I sat in the Cincinnati bus station, I decided I was hungry. Delicious aromas were wafting from the diner at the bus station, and one of my favorite breakfasts was a Denver omelet.
A Denver omelet has two of my favorite foods; onions and bacon. It may sound strange to someone who hasn’t enjoyed bacony and oniony goodness cooked in eggs, but I would advise anyone who hasn’t tried one to do so before judging. But you may want them to hold the green peppers, which are usually also in a Denver omelet. I don’t like green peppers, so I have the cook hold the green peppers, and everyone is happy.
Sitting in a bus station diner was a new experience to me. I had never been in a bustling transportation center, and as my breakfast was cooking, I contemplated the excitement of travel. I was listening to the noise build in the terminal as the morning travelers arrived. The smells from the kitchen were amazing, and I sat with my mouth watering, waiting for my omelet to arrive.
I don’t know if it was the new surroundings, the fact I was hundreds of miles from home on a grand adventure, travelling by myself for the first time, or a combination of all of the above, but I was excited. The omelet arrived, looked delicious, and I was starving.
Did I mention a Denver omelet has cheese? The combination of eggs, onions, bacon and melted cheese combined for one of the most delicious breakfasts I had ever had. I sprinkled a little bit of salt on it (since I put salt on almost everything, and yes -- I know it’s not healthy for me) and my taste buds were in heaven. Yes, I love bacon by itself. I love onions and garlic. My stepfather wanted to be Italian and he was a great cook. Everything he cooked had onions and garlic in it. Even some sour cream cookies. What really happened was he liked to put garlic in the sour cream for baked potatoes, but then forgot about the garlic when he made the cookies. They tasted okay, but had a kind of strange, sharp aftertaste. So when that onion taste combined with the bacon, cheese and eggs, I was transported.
To this day I can still remember how good that omelet tasted. There really aren’t many times you can have a breakfast you can recall decades later. As I finished the omelet I pushed the plate back in total satisfaction.
To understand the next part of this story, you need to know I grew up in Utah. It’s a desert state, and the combination of the extreme heat and cold winters eliminates a lot of pest problems other places have. You may be anticipating where this story is going, so if you want to skip ahead I don’t blame you.
I looked into the kitchen. Since I was sitting in the middle of the front counter, there was a door leading into the kitchen right in front of me. I seem to remember the floor was an industrial yellow, not unexpected in a city bus station. As I sat there in bliss, the floor seemed to move a bit.
I wasn’t sure what I had just seen. Then the floor moved again. In fact, a couple of small pieces of the floor seemed to run quickly from one side of the door to the other. And then back again. I was a recent high school graduate, but my education hadn’t included this. Was I having hallucinations from the delicacy I had just consumed?
I looked closer, and the floor moved again. As I focused on a small yellow piece of the floor which had moved, stopped and moved again long enough for me to focus, I realized what I was seeing.
Cockroaches.
I had never seen a cockroach in my life. I’d always wondered what they looked like. I didn’t really know much about them, but I knew they weren’t supposed to be in a kitchen. My stomach turned a bit, but I am happy to announce that is all that happened. If I knew then what I know now about cockroaches, my response might not have been so mild.
I’ve had Denver omelets since then, but that was the best.
Click here for an audio podcast of this episode
Forget Your Anniversary
I’ve been married more than three decades. I remember our first anniversary, and I was so clueless I took my wife to Park City. There are lots of upscale shops there in case you’ve never been, and I thought I was being creative. I told my lovely bride to take the checkbook and buy anything she wanted. She cried, but not for joy. She wanted a well-thought out present; one that I had put some time and thought into. I can’t remember what happened after that, but I guess the good news is that the fiasco didn’t end in divorce.
Fast forward a few years, and my wife tells me now if I did the same thing she would be off and spending like the roadrunner. Of course I have a few more years under my belt now, and there is no way I would ever make that offer again. Spending years together can teach you lots of stuff.
Recently we were about to celebrate our 32nd anniversary. I had even put some thought into what to do, and we had both discussed the fact we should probably buy a combined gift. That’s as far as the discussion ever got, but we both remembered our anniversary was fast approaching.
I was going to be busy with two different things going on at school, and we are both very involved people. Suffice it say we sometimes get so busy we neglect remembering certain things. Like anniversaries.
On October 14th, 2009, we both got up to get ready for school. This is the day of our anniversary, and neither of us said a word about it as we spent about an hour together before going to work. So far so good. If neither of us remember, then there is no one to blame.
As my day rolls along, one of the students in my first class asks me the date so he can write it on his assignment. “I think it’s October…14th,” I said. Then to no one in particular I also said “Why does that sound so familiar?” My voice trailed off, and while I knew it must be something important, I went on to the business at hand.
My wife is at her school and remembers our anniversary at lunch, sending me a text message wishing me a happy anniversary. Unfortunately, I had neglected to take my phone to work. The message arrived at home, and I was still clueless.
After lunch I am asked the same question by another student. “What is the date?” This time I didn’t hesitate and succinctly said “October 14th…”, followed by the words, “Oh, crap.” The students look up at me and ask what’s wrong.
“It’s my anniversary,” I sheepishly said to the class. Of course they asked me if I remembered to do anything, and I had to say no. But then I also remembered I was teaching a workshop my wife would be attending. My wife had volunteered me to teach the class, and she would be one of the students. I had about 3 hours to get something, and my class suggested I get some roses on the way. I followed their suggestion, and had a dozen roses on the way.
We were meeting at a different school, so I prayed I would arrive first. As luck would have it, I did get there first, and was able to give her flowers as she arrived. She was pleasantly surprised, and insisted she had remembered first, which her text would prove.
I don’t think it was really enough, since she ignored what I was teaching to the other people. She was checking her e-mail, not following directions and ignoring me. Teachers really do make the worst students, and when the teacher forgets an anniversary the student may be justified in misbehaving. But if you think about it, she really didn’t need to pay attention in class. She knows I will show her what we learned sometime in the future when she wants to learn it.
We were both dumfounded that we had completely spaced our anniversary. I think it may have had something to do with the fact we couldn’t celebrate until the weekend since I was also teaching public speaking later that same night. And the next night. So maybe the pressure was off.
But later in the week we went to one of our favorite restaurants and had some good company and some good food. It makes me wonder if there are marriages out there which have ended because one or the other partner forgot the anniversary.
What is the end result when both people forget? Now you know the answer. Both people sheepishly admit they forgot and they have dinner later.
I hope I don’t forget again.
This story takes place more than three decades ago, so I probably shouldn’t name cities. Things may have changed, and I don’t want the people in Cincinnati angry about something that happened in the ‘70’s. I was in Ohio for a national meeting of high school students from all over the country. I spent a week there, and was preparing to go visit my great-grandmother in Kentucky. The bus ticket had been purchased, and as I sat in the Cincinnati bus station, I decided I was hungry. Delicious aromas were wafting from the diner at the bus station, and one of my favorite breakfasts was a Denver omelet.
A Denver omelet has two of my favorite foods; onions and bacon. It may sound strange to someone who hasn’t enjoyed bacony and oniony goodness cooked in eggs, but I would advise anyone who hasn’t tried one to do so before judging. But you may want them to hold the green peppers, which are usually also in a Denver omelet. I don’t like green peppers, so I have the cook hold the green peppers, and everyone is happy.
Sitting in a bus station diner was a new experience to me. I had never been in a bustling transportation center, and as my breakfast was cooking, I contemplated the excitement of travel. I was listening to the noise build in the terminal as the morning travelers arrived. The smells from the kitchen were amazing, and I sat with my mouth watering, waiting for my omelet to arrive.
I don’t know if it was the new surroundings, the fact I was hundreds of miles from home on a grand adventure, travelling by myself for the first time, or a combination of all of the above, but I was excited. The omelet arrived, looked delicious, and I was starving.
Did I mention a Denver omelet has cheese? The combination of eggs, onions, bacon and melted cheese combined for one of the most delicious breakfasts I had ever had. I sprinkled a little bit of salt on it (since I put salt on almost everything, and yes -- I know it’s not healthy for me) and my taste buds were in heaven. Yes, I love bacon by itself. I love onions and garlic. My stepfather wanted to be Italian and he was a great cook. Everything he cooked had onions and garlic in it. Even some sour cream cookies. What really happened was he liked to put garlic in the sour cream for baked potatoes, but then forgot about the garlic when he made the cookies. They tasted okay, but had a kind of strange, sharp aftertaste. So when that onion taste combined with the bacon, cheese and eggs, I was transported.
To this day I can still remember how good that omelet tasted. There really aren’t many times you can have a breakfast you can recall decades later. As I finished the omelet I pushed the plate back in total satisfaction.
To understand the next part of this story, you need to know I grew up in Utah. It’s a desert state, and the combination of the extreme heat and cold winters eliminates a lot of pest problems other places have. You may be anticipating where this story is going, so if you want to skip ahead I don’t blame you.
I looked into the kitchen. Since I was sitting in the middle of the front counter, there was a door leading into the kitchen right in front of me. I seem to remember the floor was an industrial yellow, not unexpected in a city bus station. As I sat there in bliss, the floor seemed to move a bit.
I wasn’t sure what I had just seen. Then the floor moved again. In fact, a couple of small pieces of the floor seemed to run quickly from one side of the door to the other. And then back again. I was a recent high school graduate, but my education hadn’t included this. Was I having hallucinations from the delicacy I had just consumed?
I looked closer, and the floor moved again. As I focused on a small yellow piece of the floor which had moved, stopped and moved again long enough for me to focus, I realized what I was seeing.
Cockroaches.
I had never seen a cockroach in my life. I’d always wondered what they looked like. I didn’t really know much about them, but I knew they weren’t supposed to be in a kitchen. My stomach turned a bit, but I am happy to announce that is all that happened. If I knew then what I know now about cockroaches, my response might not have been so mild.
I’ve had Denver omelets since then, but that was the best.
Click here for an audio podcast of this episode
Forget Your Anniversary
I’ve been married more than three decades. I remember our first anniversary, and I was so clueless I took my wife to Park City. There are lots of upscale shops there in case you’ve never been, and I thought I was being creative. I told my lovely bride to take the checkbook and buy anything she wanted. She cried, but not for joy. She wanted a well-thought out present; one that I had put some time and thought into. I can’t remember what happened after that, but I guess the good news is that the fiasco didn’t end in divorce.
Fast forward a few years, and my wife tells me now if I did the same thing she would be off and spending like the roadrunner. Of course I have a few more years under my belt now, and there is no way I would ever make that offer again. Spending years together can teach you lots of stuff.
Recently we were about to celebrate our 32nd anniversary. I had even put some thought into what to do, and we had both discussed the fact we should probably buy a combined gift. That’s as far as the discussion ever got, but we both remembered our anniversary was fast approaching.
I was going to be busy with two different things going on at school, and we are both very involved people. Suffice it say we sometimes get so busy we neglect remembering certain things. Like anniversaries.
On October 14th, 2009, we both got up to get ready for school. This is the day of our anniversary, and neither of us said a word about it as we spent about an hour together before going to work. So far so good. If neither of us remember, then there is no one to blame.
As my day rolls along, one of the students in my first class asks me the date so he can write it on his assignment. “I think it’s October…14th,” I said. Then to no one in particular I also said “Why does that sound so familiar?” My voice trailed off, and while I knew it must be something important, I went on to the business at hand.
My wife is at her school and remembers our anniversary at lunch, sending me a text message wishing me a happy anniversary. Unfortunately, I had neglected to take my phone to work. The message arrived at home, and I was still clueless.
After lunch I am asked the same question by another student. “What is the date?” This time I didn’t hesitate and succinctly said “October 14th…”, followed by the words, “Oh, crap.” The students look up at me and ask what’s wrong.
“It’s my anniversary,” I sheepishly said to the class. Of course they asked me if I remembered to do anything, and I had to say no. But then I also remembered I was teaching a workshop my wife would be attending. My wife had volunteered me to teach the class, and she would be one of the students. I had about 3 hours to get something, and my class suggested I get some roses on the way. I followed their suggestion, and had a dozen roses on the way.
We were meeting at a different school, so I prayed I would arrive first. As luck would have it, I did get there first, and was able to give her flowers as she arrived. She was pleasantly surprised, and insisted she had remembered first, which her text would prove.
I don’t think it was really enough, since she ignored what I was teaching to the other people. She was checking her e-mail, not following directions and ignoring me. Teachers really do make the worst students, and when the teacher forgets an anniversary the student may be justified in misbehaving. But if you think about it, she really didn’t need to pay attention in class. She knows I will show her what we learned sometime in the future when she wants to learn it.
We were both dumfounded that we had completely spaced our anniversary. I think it may have had something to do with the fact we couldn’t celebrate until the weekend since I was also teaching public speaking later that same night. And the next night. So maybe the pressure was off.
But later in the week we went to one of our favorite restaurants and had some good company and some good food. It makes me wonder if there are marriages out there which have ended because one or the other partner forgot the anniversary.
What is the end result when both people forget? Now you know the answer. Both people sheepishly admit they forgot and they have dinner later.
I hope I don’t forget again.
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