30.3K
Downloads
656
Episodes
Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
Episodes
Wednesday Feb 02, 2011
Wednesday Feb 02, 2011
This is the complete episode of Abundance called Suspense from January 30th.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Wednesday Feb 02, 2011
Wednesday Feb 02, 2011
Dane Allred’s Rules of Engagement
SPADING MYSELF
This is not what you may be thinking after hearing this subheading. It has nothing to do with spaying, but with the common potato pitchfork, which is sometimes called a garden spade. It's like a regular pitchfork you may think of from the farm, but these pitchforks are used to harvest potatoes without too much damage, and they are excellent for loosening up compacted ground. The tines are about as big around as a finger.
I had used this particular tool for several years, and in fact had worn out several handles of past potato pitchforks. They are just too handy for loosening the ground around stubborn weeds. It works like this.
The spading pitchfork is just light enough that I can lift it up to my shoulders while sitting on the ground and thrust it into the ground in front of me with enough force to get the tines into the ground several inches. Usually I stab the ground where the weeds need pulling, and after moving the handle a bit, the ground is loose; the roots are loose, and with a simple pulling motion, a section of weeds is no more.
I have developed special muscles across my back and in my arms after stabbing this tool into the ground thousands of times every summer. I even stabbed myself in the palm once, and I think it needed three stitches. This first injury happened when a grape vine had deflected my aim for the ground, and the tines of the fork were sharp enough after the thousands of times it had penetrated dirt that it really was as sharp as a knife. The metal on the tines glows a bright silvery color from the constant sanding by the soil. But even this slight wound in my hand didn't stop me from continuing to use the potato pitchfork as my designated tool of weed elimination.
My daughter was getting married in the late summer and wanted to use our backyard for the reception. I had been slaving away trying to make the place look its best, and that included weeding where I hadn't for a few years. It was the opening night of the play "Cinderella" at the Sundance Outdoor Theatre. I was being paid to play the father of the prince, and had the unique opportunity to appear onstage in a dinner jacket, a cravat, white boxer shorts, tall black socks and slippers, reading a newspaper and ignoring my son.
That's right. I was to appear onstage with no pants. The fly of the boxer shorts had been sewn shut, and I was wearing something else under them just in case, but I guess it's time to admit that if money is involved and it's not immoral, I will probably do it. This would also explain when I picked my nose in another commercial for $300.00.
But I digress. We had been let out of rehearsal early and I knew that once the play started I would be very tired in the daytime and would probably not get much weeding done. So I determined to get some of the worst weeding over before the show that night and that included a patch where some planting pots had been sitting for a few years with seedlings in them. This had allowed the dandelions and other long-rooted weeds to really gain a foothold.
I really like working in the yard. I sell plants from my yard on EBay, and shipped over 600 packages of various plant material in the last 6 months. Mostly these are plants that are growing in the wrong place and I would be weeding them anyway, so when I pull them up I place them in a plastic bag with some loose dirt and add a little water. I seal them up and mail them on their merry way.
The best example of this is what some people call horse mint, which is really catnip. It grows in various places all over the yard, and when I see some and have sold some, I yank it up and instead of throwing it away, I turn it into cash. Even the groundcover that I sell is usually the stuff that is growing outside of the prescribed area where I want it to grow. Then it is a weed, and would probably be thrown away or burned anyway. Instead, it becomes money. It's a fun way to do the weeding in the yard.
Which brings me back to the stabbing. I have half an acre of land, and it takes most of my student-free summers to keep it under control. I can spend up to three or four hours a day in the yard and still not get done all I want to.
So when I weed, it is with a passion and energy of someone that knows it is time to get this done, and done right, and get on to other stuff. I am an intense weeder.
So there I sat in the long weeds which have had three years to grow extra deep roots. I am sitting on the ground with my spading pitchfork in my left hand, stabbing at the ground furiously and pulling the offending plants out with my right hand.
Except when they won't come out.
This weeding system works well when the plants are coming out easily. There is a problem if the weed refuses to be pulled out on the first try. This is when I usually take the top of the noxious weed in my hand, and grabbing it firmly, stab yet again with the sharpened tool of steel.
It usually works. The roots get loose and the weed comes out. But not this time.
I stabbed a little too close to my hand.
This is usually not a problem, since the blade often deflects off my hand and goes into the ground.
I was stabbing the ground so hard because the weeds were so stubborn that the blade stabbed my hand instead.
The outer tine of the pitchfork went into my right hand just above my right thumb, almost to my wrist. The blade was so sharp that it sped right under the skin and then emerged from the first joint of my thumb. Where the last knuckle of the thumb bends in, I now had a sharp steel blade sticking out of my hand about four inches.
I had really stabbed hard.
It hadn't really hurt, which I have found from extensive personal experience is usually the case with a severe injury. It did sting a bit, and the cut was clean - no blood was coming out.
In fact, the blade was firmly entrenched in my hand and as I gently tried to pull and push it a bit, my skin only moved with it. There was no blood channel like in fencing swords to allow blood to escape, and allow the stabber to extricate his blade from the stabee.
I held the blade and my hand up to the open air and admired the clean incision. I looked like one of those Freddy Krueger movies, except the blade wasn't attached to my glove; it was running through my thumb.
Time seems to stand still in these kinds of moments. I remember several different and bizarre kinds of thoughts.
Being a performer at heart and knowing I had an opening night to face later, the first words I muttered were not curses or shouts of pain. They were "Crap, I have a show tonight."
The next phrase emerged after I examined the sliced skin near my wrist. I said out loud, "Well, that only looks like 5 or 6 stitches." I had enough hands-on (!) sewing experience to know how many stitches the doctor would use.
Then two conflicting thoughts entered my mind, and I swear this is what actually happened next. I was wondering about the emergency room, but another thought crossed my mind immediately. There was going to be a wedding in this yard next month. The wheelbarrow was still sitting on the lawn, and I realized I would probably not get back to weeding for a few days. I knew I would forget to move the wheelbarrow and it would leave a big yellow mark right in the middle of the lawn.
That simply would not do. I tucked the handle of the spading pitchfork under my arm, with the blade still protruding from my hand. It was a little painful, but I endured so I could get that stupid wheelbarrow off the lawn.
I took the two handles of the wheelbarrow and lifted, a little painfully, and moved it off the lawn to the weedy patch. I kid you not. I was more worried about the lawn at this moment than the wound.
Then the other thought crowded back. I knew that the emergency room people would probably not want me to pull the tines of the pitchfork back through my hand as it would get infected. But I also knew that they would probably cut the tine off and slide it out the front of my hand. This would destroy a perfectly good spading pitchfork. I chose infection over a ruined tool.
I also had another thought as a walked over to the cement step which leads up to the patio. I could see myself arriving at the emergency room and proudly waving my arm above me and saying, "I got a potato pitchfork stuck in my hand! Can you get it out?"
I could visualize winning the "Emergency Room's Stupidest Patient" video contest, with the host playing the video over and over again imitating my voice and intoning, "Can you get it out? Can you get it out?"
It was only a few steps to the concrete step, and by the time I arrived and had played out the above scenario out in my mind several times, I was determined to get that blade out of my hand.
I put the unencumbered tines on the step and hung my hand off the side. The goal was to do this in one motion, much like yanking off a bandage. I pulled hesitantly and confirmed the holding power of steel against flesh - it felt like it was super-glued to my hand.
So I knew it would take a mighty yank to get this off my hand, and I would probably only be able to endure the pain of one attempt.
So I threw my weight into it, and locked my arm and slid the hand down and off the blade. It still didn't really hurt so bad I couldn't stand it, but for the next part I was unprepared.
The blade was off, but now two gaping holes in my hand started to pour out blood. I'm not very good with blood, even though I have a fairly high pain threshold. Especially if it is my blood.
A wave of nausea swept over me and for the first time I felt like I was going to faint. I got lightheaded and doubted that I would be able to make it up the patio stairs to the phone. A mental image washed over me -- my dead body collapsed at the base of the stairs with people standing over me shaking their heads and muttering, "Another senseless potato pitchfork death."
Blood was pooling everywhere, and I somehow made it up the stairs and opened the back door. I went to the kitchen sink and rinsed out the dirt as best I could, relishing the feel of the cold water on my flesh which seemed to be searing with heat.
I grabbed the dishtowel next to the stove and wrapped my hand up several times. I stumbled to the phone, dialed 911 and lay down on the floor.
When the operator answered and asked what was the nature of my emergency, I told her I had stabbed myself and thought I might pass out. The good news about land line phones is that they already have your address when you call. We had a man die here locally when he was called 911 on a cell phone and they couldn't find him.
The emergency operator assured me that she knew where I was, and was sending an ambulance. I told her that I would be lying in a pool of blood at the top of the stairs. I told her to tell the EMT to just come in the front door and walk upstairs. She was very comforting and kept me calm, and as I looked over at my hand, I realized I really was lying in a pool of blood.
The ambulance driver came in and took great care of me, not even laughing when I told him what had happened. He wrapped up my hand into a softball sized mound of gauze and I limped to the ambulance under my own power. Some people from the neighborhood were standing outside wondering what I had done this time, and as I emerged, I waved my giant wrapped hand at them and said I was okay. "I stabbed myself," I think I said.
I had discussed the emergency room with the EMT. I knew that if I went to the emergency room I would be late for my opening night performance. And my doctor was only four blocks down the street.
Somehow I convinced him to deposit me at the doctor's office. I'm guessing this is not standard operating procedure since they were very hesitant to let me do it, but when I insisted they walked me gingerly all the way back into the room where I would be worked on. Then they had me sign a release saying this is where I wanted to be and that I wouldn't sue them later for not taking good care of me.
I was also worried what Debbie would think when she came home and saw the blood all over the kitchen floor, but luckily my daughter Aleesa was driving up to our house when she saw me being taken away in an ambulance. Devoted daughter that she is, she followed us to the doctor's office and came right in the door.
When she saw that I was all right she asked if there was anything she could do. I asked if she wouldn't mind going to the house and cleaning up the blood on the floor. And the blood leading to the sink. And maybe the blood on the back porch. And the steps. She said she would without hesitating, and my wife was spared the sight of a bloody kitchen.
Dr. Wylie has no sympathy for my self-inflicted injuries since he usually has several at one time himself. He does rock-climbing and helicopter skiing, so we usually compare scars and stories, and I get little pity.
He went right to work, irrigating the three-inch long wound which ran just under my skin. The blade had bounced off the muscle and sinew in my hand and cruised nicely just beneath the skin to emerge at the top of my thumb. He washed it several times, but didn't sound too hopeful that we were getting all of the dirt out.
It was after all, a spading pitchfork which was often covered in dirt, and some of it had to stay under my skin. I didn't bother telling him that this particular area had once been used as a kennel by the previous owners. I guess I thought he would send me to the hospital, and I had a performance to get to.
I was right. It was six stitches on the top and three on the bottom, accompanied by a large dose of antibiotics (again). By this time I had started to feel some of the pain, but only took some ibuprofen so I wouldn't be dulled for the show that night.
He sent me on my merry way, and I made it to the call up at Sundance only about 30 minutes late. The transparent bandage on my hand wouldn't show on stage, and after showing my injuries to the cast and the directors, I was excused for being a little late. Stabbing yourself and getting nine stitches can get you excused for being slow, but don't try this at home.
To add insult to injury, I went to the vocal director and showed him my new scars. He wasn't too pleased with me being in the show anyway since I didn't have the strongest voice in the cast. I told him I didn't think I could sing that night, and he turned to me and actually said, "Could you please not sing?" I said yes, of course.
It wasn't my best opening night, but as I mouthed the words to the finale right next to audience members that night, they may have wondered why they couldn't hear this guy sing even when he was standing three feet away. I just looked at my hand and pretended to sing even louder.
When the choral director found out how lousy my voice really was, I was fired for the rest of the season. I was supposed to sing with Maureen McGovern and Christopher Lloyd in two later shows, but untrained singer that I am, I think they made the right choice. It did give me more time to get the backyard ready for the wedding. I spent the extra time stabbing at weeds with my perfectly intact spading pitchfork instead of feeling sorry for myself.
I wasn't out of the woods yet. The dirt and germs I had pulled back under my skin didn't all get flushed away, and I got an incredible infection from the wound. My arm from my elbow down began to turn black and blue, and when I showed it to the doctor two days later, he said it wasn't bruising but a raging infection.
He told me to keep taking the antibiotic pills I was taking and then went to the supply closet for a catheter. He hooked up this semi-permanent antibiotic delivery system and taped it right into the bend of my elbow. For those who have been paying attention, having needles close to me is worse than any horror flick you can name. He jabbed that giant needle into the skin and then taped it to my arm.
Getting a bag of antibiotics, he indicated we would have to do this twice a day for a few days until the infection was under control. Dr. Wylie isn't someone to mess around. When he sees a problem he deals with it right then, and doesn't take any hostages. The liquid ran into my system quickly, and then he took the bag away.
And left the needle in my arm.
As I sat staring at the needled delivery system, Dr. Wylie must have read my mind. He's heard me talk about my needle phobia enough. He said to me in his most patient and calming bedside manner, "Come back this afternoon and we'll give you some more. Let's leave the catheter in until we get this under control."
I concealed my panic. I was going to be walking around for a few days with a NEEDLE stuck perpetually into my skin. I really am a baby about this, and I am so hypersensitive about needles that I claim I can always feel the needle in my skin as long as it is there.
Logically, I know this can't be true. My body has endured enough pain to adjust quite quickly to most ailments, but I'm phobic enough to think I can feel a needle.
I was actually quite proud that I didn't faint right there in the office. I rose without fear to face several days with a needle in my arm 24/7, and left the office wondering if anyone could see the internal conflict I was experiencing. Was my face fixed into a constant grimace of pain? Or was the stoic face of resignation being presented to the world?
I actually performed a couple of shows with a needle sticking into my arm. It sounds like a trial, but realistically, I did forget every once in a while that there was a needle there. Until I moved my arm in a weird direction and a stabbing pain reminded me that I was enduring this only because I had stabbed myself earlier in the week. At that point all you can do is shrug your shoulders and think to yourself, "This too shall pass." And it does.
It was kind of cool to be able to show people the catheter, until I had to tell them the whole story about why I needed twice a day antibiotics. Then instead of feeling your pain with you, the begin to smile and wonder how a guy like me has managed to survive this long on a planet with so many sharp edges.
The only permanent damage from stabbing my hand Freddy Krueger-like is that I have two distinctive scars on my right thumb. One right on the top towards the wrist, and another just where the last knuckle bends under my thumb. I still use the potato pitchfork for gardening, but I am extra careful when stabbing at stubborn long-rooted weeds.
One more Dr. Wylie story deserves a painful revisit. I have inherited skin tabs from someone in my family, and I suspect it was probably my grandfather on my mother's side. Grandpa Hale had skin tabs all over his face near his eyes. It was really disturbing, and when I discovered them occurring on my face near my eyes, I decided to have them removed on a regular basis.
Dr. Wylie is pretty adventurous, but he enjoys this particular treatment way too much. To remove a skin tab, which is just extra skin gathered into a little protrusion, Dr. Wylie gets out his liquid nitrogen gun. He puts a little liquid nitrogen in this little evil device, charges it with a little air pressure, and goes to work with an evil grin.
Shooting liquid nitrogen onto bare skin through a little tiny hole feels just like - you guessed it - someone shoving thousands of tiny needles into your skin. There is no anesthetic involved, so you get the full effect of thousands of tiny needles undulled.
At least I don't have to see any needles; I only have to feel like there are the tiniest needles in creation all stabbing me at once.
I have to endure this unique torture every few years when new skin tabs appear, and when Dr. Wiley sees me coming, I think he is always looking for another adventure with his little gun. How often do you get chance to shoot liquid nitrogen onto someone's face and get paid for it?
After the treatments the skin turns black from the exposure to subzero temperatures and within a week the skin tab falls off. Within a couple of weeks the skin returns to normal.
I wonder why they say "Vanity, thy name is woman." It seems pretty vain to me to endure this kind of torture just so I don't have little flaps of skin next to my eyes.
Not all self-inflicted injuries lead to visible damage, or at least no permanent physical scar. After the spading fork incident, I really tried to be careful; after all, we had a wedding coming up in the backyard and I wanted to be present but not the focus of attention. My oldest daughter could do without comments like "Did you know he stabbed himself in the hand and they had to amputate his arm?" It really only took 5 or 6 twice daily infusions of antibiotic to clear up the infection, so I was feeling great. I don't know why I feel especially good after a round of antibiotics, but it's usually not worth the trouble I have to get into to get the injections. Or the pills. I really don't know how many rounds of antibiotics I've had in my life, but I think it may be above fifteen. Or maybe twenty.
The wedding went fine, and I didn't limp up the aisle with a broken foot, hand, or leg. Aleesa was beautiful and the work had been worth the pain. It's not very often you get to give your daughter away to her husband in your own backyard surrounded by family and friends, so the occasion was especially sweet.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Click here for a complete INDEX
Experience is the Angled Road
by Emily Dickenson
Experience is the Angled Road
Preferred against the Mind
By -- Paradox -- the Mind itself --
Presuming it to lead
Quite Opposite -- How Complicate
The Discipline of Man --
Compelling Him to Choose Himself
His Preappointed Pain –
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Suspense
by Dane Allred
There is that moment of uncertainty
When we recognize each other from the Bright Space
That instant when our past connections
Are renewed.
But then this world interrupts that celebration
And the reality of the here and now makes us dismiss
The certainty we felt just moments before
That we knew each other so long ago in that Bright Space.
We are all here to learn what we can on our own
To learn those things we could not learn together there.
To return and share our joy, our sadness,
Our success and failure.
To share our pain, our sadness and the disappointments
Each of us had to face.
Those experiences only we can experience
To accomplish those tasks only we can accomplish.
There is that moment of suspense where the unknown is known
And we get the glimpse of all we can be,
And all that other person can be,
And all our world could be.
The moment when we hold our breath and hope for that better time
That future time we are here to create.
Suspended in that moment of suspense,
We feel the timelessness of right now extending into eternity.
In that moment of eternity stretching into our world,
And then we return to this life.
Different from the time we knew together in the Bright Space,
Where we were at peace, knowing all there was to know
And content in that knowledge.
But then we realized we could know more
If we left the Bright Space, to find our own truths.
Now we wander in what we think is our own little world,
Unaware of the time we spent together before.
Wandering in a world where we have forgotten.
Wondering what the strange familiarity is, but dismissing it
And we continue to think we are here alone and separate.
But it is our world together.
Pay close attention the next time you feel that connection.
It is the Bright Space reminding you we will all be together again.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Dane Allred’s Rules of Engagement
IDAHO MAKES ME SICK
When our children were younger we took a trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We stopped at a little convenience store in Yellowstone and I got a bag of yogurt almonds. These were a popular snack touted as a healthy alternative to chocolate with the almonds coated with creamy white yogurt. I don't think it was really yogurt, but probably just a white chocolate or even cheaper waxy alternative. But being health conscience and trying to be a better eater of confections that seemed healthy, I gladly ate the almonds, doing my duty to become healthier by eating fake health food. As we returned through a big loop through Idaho, I started to feel ill as soon as we crossed the Idaho border.
It was my old friend food poisoning. I don't know how long the yogurt almonds had sat there on the shelf, but it must have been for a very long time. I don't really think of almonds going bad or even whitish candy coating turning sour. Maybe it was the preparation of the delicious treat that donated the dreaded disease to the contents of the bag. Whatever or whoever the culprit, I was once again in the grasp of the gut-wrenching galloping gastrointestinal giddiness. We crossed the border to Idaho, and I informed Debbie she would have to drive for a while. I pulled over, went to the back of our trusty blue Volkswagen beetle and bent over as if trying to inspect the rear passenger side tire. Doubled over like this, it's easy to empty the stomach through the conventional method without looking like a drunkard stuck on the side of the road.
To all the world zooming by in their cars and trucks, I was simply inspecting the rear tire. To those who looked closer as the sped by at sixty-five, they would see the occasional heaving and perhaps understand that Dane was once again being subjected to his own hubris; brought down by a package of peanuts. I mean almonds.
Debbie took over the wheel and I sat in the passenger seat moaning and trying to sleep. Every half hour or so, I would politely ask her to pull over so I could inspect the tires. I don't even think the kids knew what was going on as they slept in the back seat.
Bend over, look at the tire. Yep, still there. Make a deposit on the side of the road. Think for a minute if this is littering or against the law. Am I supposed to find some water and wash it off the side of the road? Can you get a ticket for throwing up on an interstate?
Then I would get back in the car and we would drive for a while. Soon we were almost out of Idaho. We must have stopped at least five or six times, and I thought I was going to make it out of the state with no further problems. As the state line approached, I felt the wave of nausea sweep over me again, and I donated more roadside detritus to the state known better for its potatoes.
The really strange thing about this whole episode is that as soon as we left Idaho, I felt better. I think I was able to finally sleep for a while, and in my male ego part of my mind, I may have rewritten this episode to include me getting back into the driver's seat and continuing home without further problems. But realistically I know in my deepest part of my logical brain that Debbie drove the rest of the way.
I don't hold it against anyone from the state up north, but this was one time when the state of Idaho made me sick. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
It's been over a decade and I haven't been back there since. I haven't had any yogurt almonds since then either.
Here’s wishing you don’t have to stop by the side of the road and inspect your tires.
Don’t hold a grudge against the state where you get sick. It’s not Idaho’s fault I didn’t feel well. Just think twice before you take that bag of yogurt almonds. Maybe even check the expiration date. Then you can enjoy the scenery, and not have to check and see if the tires are still inflated.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Character Central
Leo
Character Central, Leo speakin’.
Dane
Hi, Leo, this is Dane Allred, from Abundance.
Leo
Who?
Dane
Abundance? 1001 Thanks? Literature Out Loud?
Leo
Sorry, pal, you got the wrong number.
Dane
No, I’d like to speak to Winston Churchill, please.
Leo
Oh, you want Sir Winston. Churchy baby, the phone’s for you. How we paying for this today, pally?.
Dane
Could we use the Bill Gates card again?
Leo
Oh, this is Dane Allred, isn’t it?
Dane
Yeah, that’s what I said, Dane Allred.
Leo
Thanks for using Character Central. Here’s Sir Winston.
Dane
Sir Winston Churchill, what an honor to speak with you today. I’d say most of our audience today knows you best from your dedication and work in World War II.
Winston
It was the nation and the race dwelling all round the globe that had the lion's heart. I had the luck to be called upon to give the roar.
Dane
And what a roar. You were considered one of the key voices for the Allies.
Winston
One ought never to turn one's back on a threatened danger and try to run away from it. If you do that, you will double the danger. But if you meet it promptly and without flinching, you will reduce the danger by half. Never run away from anything. Never!
Dane
And I guess your most famous speech from the war would be…
Winston
We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.
Dane
Yes, and speaking of the word never…
Winston
Never give in — never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.
Never, never, never give up.
Dane
Yes, I was thinking of those quotes. But you must hate to be reminded of those times again and again.
Winston
I hate nobody except Hitler — and that is professional.
Dane
Yes, Hitler was one of the biggest problems.
Winston
If you are going through hell, keep going.
Dane
So you think Hitler is in Hell?
Winston
If Hitler invaded Hell, I would make at least a favorable reference to the devil in the House of Commons.
Dane
Very nice of you.
Winston
When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite.
Dane
And when your time comes, do you think Heaven will judge you harshly?
Winston
I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.
Dane
And do you think history will treat you kindly?
Winston
History will be kind to me for I intend to write it. History is written by the victors.
Dane
It does help to be on the winning side, right?
Winston
In war it does not matter who is right, but who is left.
Dane
How true. But World War II really was a battle of giant personalities like you and Hitler.
Winston
When the war of the giants is over the wars of the pygmies will begin.
Dane
And you were successful in completing what you had to do.
Winston
Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.
Dane
Yes, I guess there were some failures.
Winston
When you are winning a war almost everything that happens can be claimed to be right and wise.
Dane
It’s been said you enjoyed the war.
Winston
Yes, I once said, “I think a curse should rest on me. I know this war is shattering the lives of thousands every moment — and yet — I can't help it — I enjoy every second of it.”
Dane
But that is the kind of fanaticism people need in their leaders during war.
Winston
A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject.
Dane
Well, if you want to change the subject, we don’t have to talk about just the war. But we’ve just begun to…
Winston
Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
Dane
So we can keep talking about other topics?
Winston
Too often the strong, silent man is silent only because he does not know what to say, and is reputed strong only because he has remained silent.
Dane
Yes, I know our listeners will be interested to hear whatever you’d like to discuss.
Winston
When the eagles are silent, the parrots begin to jabber.
Dane
Uh, sorry if I’m jabbering. Have you ever regretted things you have said in the past?
Winston
I have never developed indigestion from eating my words.
Dane
Really?
Winston
In the course of my life, I have often had to eat my words, and I must confess that I have always found it a wholesome diet.
Dane
You have a good attitude about being right and wrong.
Winston
I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught.
Dane
But that still is a positive attitude.
Winston
I am an optimist. It does not seem too much use being anything else.
Dane
Yes, pessimism doesn’t contribute much.
Winston
A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.
Dane
So you don’t need encouragement to be optimistic?
Winston
I am certainly not one of those who need to be prodded. In fact, if anything, I am the prod.
Dane
You were one of the best motivating factors of the war.
Winston
I am easily satisfied with the very best.
Dane
Do you have a favorite animal?
Winston
No hour of life is lost that is spent in the saddle.
Dane
Saddle, horses. I get it. Any other comments about animals?
Winston
I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.
Dane
Pigs, yes. I understand you once heard your room was bugged, and had a great response. Do you remember what you said?
Winston
This is Winston Churchill speaking. If you have a microphone in my room, it is a waste of time. I do not talk in my sleep.
Dane
Very funny. You do have some classic retorts which have been immortalized. When Bessie Braddock told you that you were drunk, you replied:
Winston
Bessie, my dear, you are ugly, and what's more, you are disgustingly ugly. But tomorrow I shall be sober and you will still be disgustingly ugly.
Dane
That seems quite cruel.
Winston
If you have an important point to make, don't try to be subtle or clever. Use a pile driver. Hit the point once. Then come back and hit it again. Then hit it a third time - a tremendous whack.
Dane
Which is why when Lady Astor commented to you, that if you were her husband, she would put poison in your coffee, you said:
Winston
And if I were your husband I would drink it!
Dane
I understand you had a great response to George Bernard Shaw when he invited you to the premiere of Pygmalion. He wrote: AM RESERVING TWO TICKETS FOR YOU FOR MY PREMIERE. COME AND BRING A FRIEND – IF YOU HAVE ONE. Do you recall your reply?
Winston
IMPOSSIBLE TO BE PRESENT FOR THE FIRST PERFORMANCE. WILL ATTEND THE SECOND – IF THERE IS ONE.
Dane
What would you say was your most significant accomplishment in life?
Winston
My most brilliant achievement was my ability to be able to persuade my wife to marry me.
Dane
You are most proud of your marriage to your wife. Do you spend much time together?
Winston
My wife and I tried two or three times in the last 40 years to have breakfast together, but it was so disagreeable we had to stop. (Cough)
Dane
Do you need a drink of brandy?
Winston
I neither want it nor need it, but I should think it pretty hazardous to interfere with the ineradicable habit of a lifetime.
Dane
Yes, it is said you do like alcohol.
Winston
When I was a young subaltern in the South African War, the water was not fit to drink. To make it palatable we had to put a bit of whiskey in it. By diligent effort I learned to like it.
Dane
So you might say you drink regularly.
Winston
When I was younger I made it a rule never to take strong drink before lunch. It is now my rule never to do so before breakfast.
Dane
Any problems from drinking?
Winston
I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me.
Dane
Any other vices?
Winston
My rule of life prescribed as an absolutely sacred rite smoking cigars and also the drinking of alcohol before, after and if need be during all meals and in the intervals between them.
Dane
I’m told you often miss scheduled flights and trains?
Winston
I am a sporting man. I always give them a fair chance to get away.
Dane
Very sporting of you.
Winston
We are all worms. But I believe that I am a glow-worm.
Dane
But even so, you have given so much to this civilization.
Winston
We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.
Dane
Very inspiring. And I would like to thank you for helping the world progress to the great civilization we have today.
Winston
Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and the glory of the climb.
Dane
Yes, I think I once heard you say something about life being difficult.
Winston
Difficulties mastered are opportunities won.
Dane
Yes, that was it. And may I say what a great opportunity it was to speak to you today from Character Central. I hope to have on here again. Thank you again for saving us and the British Empire from domination by Fascism.
Winston
I think I can save the British Empire from anything — except the British.
Dane
That’s very funny.
Winston
A joke is a very serious thing.
Dane
Thank you again. We’ve been speaking with Sir Winston Churchill, from Character Central.
Character Central. Where quotations from famous people are used to complete an interview with Dane Allred. All of the quotations were actually spoken or written by the subject of the interview at one time or another, but never for this interview.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Monday Jan 31, 2011
Suspense
by Dane Allred
I hold my breath and wait and wonder
While keeping my surmises under
Wraps and anticipate
As I participate;
Suspenseful moments patience plunder.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Wednesday Jan 26, 2011
Wednesday Jan 26, 2011
This is the complete episode of Abundance from Jan 23rd caled Roads.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Wednesday Jan 26, 2011
Wednesday Jan 26, 2011
Click here for a complete INDEX
The Three Golden Hairs
by Parker Fillmore
There was once a king who took great delight in hunting. One day he followed a stag a great distance into the forest. He went on and on and on until he lost his way. Night fell and the king by happy chance came upon a clearing where a charcoal-burner had a cottage. The king asked the charcoal-burner to lead him out of the forest and offered to pay him handsomely.
"I'd be glad to go with you," the charcoal-burner said, "but my wife is expecting the birth of a child and I cannot leave her. It is too late for you to start out alone. Won't you spend the night here? Lie down on some hay in the garret and tomorrow I'll be your guide."
The king had to accept this arrangement. He climbed into the garret and lay down on the floor. Soon afterwards a son was born to the charcoal-burner.
At midnight the king noticed a strange light in the room below him. He peeped through a chink in the boards and saw the charcoal-burner asleep, his wife lying in a dead faint, and three old women, all in white, standing over the baby, each holding a lighted taper in her hand.
The first old woman said: "My gift to this boy is that he shall encounter great dangers."
The second said: "My gift to him is that he shall go safely through them all, and live long."
The third one said: "And I give him for wife the baby daughter born this night to the king who lies upstairs on the straw."
The three old women blew out their tapers and all was quiet. They were the Fates.
The king felt as though a sword had been thrust into his heart. He lay awake till morning trying to think out some plan by which he could thwart the will of the three old Fates.
When day broke the child began to cry and the charcoal-burner woke up. Then he saw that his wife had died during the night.
"Ah, my poor motherless child," he cried, "what shall I do with you now?"
"Give me the baby," the king said. "I'll see that he's looked after properly and I'll give you enough money to keep you the rest of your life."
The charcoal-burner was delighted with this offer and the king went away promising to send at once for the baby.
A few days later when he reached his palace he was met with the joyful news that a beautiful little baby daughter had been born to him. He asked the time of her birth, and of course it was on the very night when he saw the Fates. Instead of being pleased at the safe arrival of the baby princess, the king frowned.
Then he called one of his stewards and said to him: "Go into the forest in a direction that I shall tell you. You will find there a cottage where a charcoal-burner lives. Give him this money and get from him a little child. Take the child and on your way back drown it. Do as I say or I shall have you drowned."
The steward went, found the charcoal-burner, and took the child. He put it into a basket and carried it away. As he was crossing a broad river he dropped the basket into the water.
"Goodnight to you, little son-in-law that nobody wanted!" the king said when he heard what the steward had done.
He supposed of course that the baby was drowned. But it wasn't. Its little basket floated in the water like a cradle, and the baby slept as if the river were singing it a lullaby. It floated down with the current past a fisherman's cottage. The fisherman saw it, got into his boat, and went after it. When he found what the basket contained he was overjoyed. At once he carried the baby to his wife and said:
"You have always wanted a little son and here you have one. The river has given him to us."
The fisherman's wife was delighted and brought up the child as her own. They named him Plavachek, which means a little boy who has come floating on the water.
The river flowed on and the days went by and Plavachek grew from a baby to a boy and then into a handsome youth, the handsomest by far in the whole countryside.
One day the king happened to ride that way unattended. It was hot and he was thirsty. He beckoned to the fisherman to get him a drink of fresh water. Plavachek brought it to him. The king looked at the handsome youth in astonishment.
"You have a fine lad," he said to the fisherman. "Is he your son?"
"He is, yet he isn't," the fisherman answered. "Just twenty years ago a little baby in a basket floated down the river. We took him in and he has been ours ever since."
A mist rose before the king's eyes and he went deathly pale, for he knew at once that Plavachek was the child that he had ordered drowned.
Soon he recovered himself and jumping from his horse said: "I need a messenger to send to my palace and I have no one with me. Could this youth go for me?"
"Your majesty has but to command," the fisherman said, "and Plavachek will go."
The king sat down and wrote a letter to the queen. This is what he said:
"Have the young man who delivers this letter run through with a sword at once. He is a dangerous enemy. Let him be dispatched before I return. Such is my will."
He folded the letter, made it secure, and sealed it with his own signet.
Plavachek took the letter and started out with it at once. He had to go through a deep forest where he missed the path and lost his way. He struggled on through underbrush and thicket until it began to grow dark. Then he met an old woman who said to him:
"Where are you going, Plavachek?"
"I'm carrying this letter to the king's palace and I've lost my way. Can you put me on the right road, mother?"
"You can't get there today," the old woman said. "It's dark now. Spend the night with me. You won't be with a stranger, for I'm your old godmother."
Plavachek allowed himself to be persuaded and presently he saw before him a pretty little house that seemed at that moment to have sprung out of the ground.
During the night while Plavachek was asleep, the little old woman took the letter out of his pocket and put in another that read as follows:
"Have the young man who delivers this letter married to our daughter at once. He is my destined son-in-law. Let the wedding take place before I return. Such is my will."
The next day Plavachek delivered the letter and as soon as the queen read it, she gave orders at once for the wedding. Both she and her daughter were much taken with the handsome youth and gazed at him with tender eyes. As for Plavachek he fell instantly in love with the princess and was delighted to marry her.
Some days after the wedding the king returned and when he heard what had happened he flew into a violent rage at the queen.
"But," protested the queen, "you yourself ordered me to have him married to our daughter before you came back. Here is your letter."
The king took the letter and examined it carefully. The handwriting, the seal, the paper—all were his own.
He called his son-in-law and questioned him.
Plavachek related how he had lost his way in the forest and spent the night with his godmother.
"What does your godmother look like?" the king asked.
Plavachek described her.
From the description the king recognized her as the same old woman who had promised the princess to the charcoal-burner's son twenty years before.
He looked at Plavachek thoughtfully and at last said:
"What's done can't be undone. However, young man, you can't expect to be my son-in-law for nothing. If you want my daughter you must bring me for dowry three of the golden hairs of old Grandfather Knowitall."
He thought to himself that this would be an impossible task and so would be a good way to get rid of an undesirable son-in-law.
Plavachek took leave of his bride and started off. He didn't know which way to go. Who would know? Everybody talked about old Grandfather Knowitall, but nobody seemed to know where to find him. Yet Plavachek had a Fate for a godmother, so it wasn't likely that he would miss the right road.
He traveled long and far, going over wooded hills and desert plains and crossing deep rivers. He came at last to a black sea.
There he saw a boat and an old ferryman.
"God bless you, old ferryman!" he said.
"May God grant that prayer, young traveler! Where are you going?"
"I'm going to old Grandfather Knowitall to get three of his golden hairs."
"Oho! I have long been hunting for just such a messenger as you! For twenty years I have been ferrying people across this black sea and nobody has come to relieve me. If you promise to ask Grandfather Knowitall when my work will end, I'll ferry you over."
Plavachek promised and the boatman took him across.
Plavachek traveled on until he came to a great city that was in a state of decay. Before the city he met an old man who had a staff in his hand, but even with the staff he could scarcely crawl along.
"God bless you, old grandfather!" Plavachek said.
"May God grant that prayer, handsome youth! Where are you going?"
"I am going to old Grandfather Knowitall to get three of his golden hairs."
"Indeed! We have been waiting a long time for just such a messenger as you! I must lead you at once to the king."
So he took him to the king and the king said: "Ah, so you are going on an errand to Grandfather Knowitall! We have an apple-tree here that used to bear apples of youth. If anyone ate one of those apples, no matter how aged he was, he'd become young again. But, alas, for twenty years now our tree has borne no fruit. If you promise to ask Grandfather Knowitall if there is any help for us, I will reward you handsomely."
Plavachek gave the king his promise and the king bid him Godspeed.
Plavachek traveled on until he reached another great city that was half in ruins. Not far from the city a man was burying his father, and tears as big as peas were rolling down his cheek.
"God bless you, mournful grave-digger!" Plavachek said.
"May God grant that prayer, kind traveler! Where are you going?"
"I'm going to old Grandfather Knowitall to get three of his golden hairs."
"To Grandfather Knowitall! What a pity you didn't come sooner! Our king has been waiting for just such a messenger as you! I must lead you to him."
So he took Plavachek to the king and the king said to him: "So you're going on an errand to Grandfather Knowitall. We have a well here that used to flow with the water of life. If anyone drank of it, no matter how sick he was, he would get well. Nay, if he were already dead, this water, sprinkled upon him, would bring him back to life. But, alas, for twenty years now the well has gone dry. If you promise to ask Grandfather Knowitall if there is help for us, I will reward you handsomely."
Plavachek gave the king his promise and the king bid him godspeed.
After that Plavachek traveled long and far into the black forest. Deep in the forest he came upon a broad green meadow full of beautiful flowers and in its midst a golden palace glittering as though it were on fire. This was the palace of Grandfather Knowitall.
Plavachek entered and found nobody there but an old woman who sat spinning in a corner.
"Welcome, Plavachek," she said. "I am delighted to see you again."
He looked at the old woman and saw that she was his godmother with whom he had spent the night when he was carrying the letter to the palace.
"What has brought you here, Plavachek?" she asked.
"The king, godmother. He says I can't be his son-in-law for nothing. I have to give a dowry. So he has sent me to old Grandfather Knowitall to get three of his golden hairs."
The old woman smiled and said: "Do you know who Grandfather Knowitall is? Why, he's the bright Sun who goes everywhere and sees everything. I am his mother. In the morning he's a little lad, at noon he's a grown man, and in the evening an old grandfather. I will get you three of the golden hairs from his golden head, for I must not be a godmother for nothing! But, my lad, you mustn't remain where you are. My son is kind, but if he comes home hungry he might want to roast you and eat you for his supper. There's an empty tub over there and I'll just cover you with it."
Plavachek begged his godmother to get from Grandfather Knowitall the answers for the three questions he had promised to ask.
"I will," said the old woman, "and do you listen carefully to what he says."
Suddenly there was the rushing sound of a mighty wind outside and the Sun, an old grandfather with a golden head, flew in by the western window. He sniffed the air suspiciously.
"Phew! Phew!" he cried. "I smell human flesh! Have you any one here, mother?"
"Star of the day, whom could I have here without your seeing him? The truth is you've been flying all day long over God's world and your nose is filled with the smell of human flesh. That's why you still smell it when you come home in the evening."
The old man said nothing more and sat down to his supper.
After supper he laid his head on the old woman's lap and fell sound asleep. The old woman pulled out a golden hair and threw it on the floor. It twanged like the string of a violin.
"What is it, mother?" the old man said. "What is it?"
"Nothing, my boy, nothing. I was asleep and had a wonderful dream."
"What dream did you dream about, mother?"
"I dreamt about a city where they had a well of living water. If any one drank of it, no matter how sick he was, he would get well. Nay, if he were already dead, this water, sprinkled on him, would bring him back to life. For the last twenty years the well has gone dry. Is there anything to be done to make it flow again?"
"Yes. There's a frog sitting on the spring that feeds the well. Let them kill the frog and clean out the well and the water will flow as before."
When he fell asleep again the old woman pulled out another golden hair and threw it on the floor.
"What is it, mother?"
"Nothing, my boy, nothing. I was asleep again and I had a wonderful dream. I dreamt of a city where they had an apple-tree that bore apples of youth. If any one ate one of those apples, no matter how aged he was, he'd become young again. But for twenty years the tree has borne no fruit. Can anything be done about it?"
"Yes. In the roots of the tree there is a snake that takes its strength. Let them kill the snake and transplant the tree. Then it will bear fruit as before."
He fell asleep again and the old woman pulled out a third golden hair.
"Why won't you let me sleep, mother?" he complained, and started to sit up.
"Lie still, my boy, lie still. I didn't intend to wake you, but a heavy sleep fell upon me and I had another wonderful dream. I dreamt of a boatman on the black sea. For twenty years he has been ferrying that boat and no one has offered to relieve him. When will he be relieved?"
"Ah, but that boatman is the son of a stupid mother! Why doesn't he thrust the oar into the hand of some one else and jump ashore himself?" Then the other man would have to be ferryman in his place. But now let me be quiet. I must get up early tomorrow and go and dry the tears which the king's daughter sheds every night for her husband, the charcoal-burner's son, whom the king has sent to get three of my golden hairs."
In the morning there was again the rushing sound of a mighty wind outside and a beautiful golden child—no longer an old man—awoke on his mother's lap. It was the glorious Sun. He bade his mother farewell and flew out by an eastern window.
The old woman turned over the tub and said to Plavachek: "Here are the three golden hairs for you. You also have Grandfather Knowitall's answers to your three questions. Now good-by. As you will need me no more, you will never see me again."
Plavachek thanked his godmother most gratefully and departed.
When he reached the first city the king asked him what news he brought.
"Good news!" Plavachek said. "Have the well cleaned out and kill the frog that sits on its spring. If you do this the water will flow again as it used to."
The king ordered this to be done at once and when he saw the water beginning to bubble up and flow again, he made Plavachek a present of twelve horses, white as swans, laden with as much gold and silver as they could carry.
When Plavachek came to the second city and the king of that city asked him what news he brought, he said:
"Good news! Have the apple tree dug up. At its roots you will find a snake. Kill the snake and replant the tree. Then it will bear fruit as it used to."
The king had this done at once and during the night the tree burst into bloom and bore great quantities of fruit. The king was delighted and made Plavachek a present of twelve horses, black as ravens, laden with as much riches as they could carry.
Plavachek traveled on and when he came to the black sea, the boatman asked him had he the answer to his question.
"Yes, I have," said Plavachek, "but you must ferry me over before I tell you."
The boatman wanted to hear the answer at once, but Plavachek was firm. So the old man ferried him across with his twelve white horses and his twelve black horses.
When Plavachek was safely landed, he said: "The next person who comes to be ferried over, thrust the oar into his hand and do you jump ashore. Then the other man will have to be boatman in your place."
Plavachek traveled home to the palace. The king could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw the three golden hairs of Grandfather Knowitall. The princess wept again, not for sorrow this time but for joy at her bridegroom's return.
"But, Plavachek," the king gasped, "where did you get these beautiful horses and all these riches?"
"I earned them," said Plavachek proudly. Then he related how he helped one king who had a tree of the apples of youth and another king who had a well of the water of life.
"Apples of youth! Water of life!" the king kept repeating softly to himself. "If I ate one of those apples I should become young again! If I were dead the water of life would restore me!"
He lost no time in starting out in quest of the apples of youth and the water of life. And do you know, he hasn't come back yet!
So Plavachek, the charcoal-burner's son, became the king's son-in-law as the old Fate foretold.
As for the king, well, I fear he's still ferrying that boat across the black sea!
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin
Tuesday Jan 25, 2011
Tuesday Jan 25, 2011
Roads
by Dane Allred
While down the crooked road I stumbled
I grumbled and my stomach rumbled,
On and on I wandered
Rambled and then sauntered
And into the crevasse I tumbled.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin