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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
Episodes
Saturday Nov 20, 2010
Saturday Nov 20, 2010
My Savior
In the green of Gethsemane,
My Savior bled for me
The drops of sweat that flowed like blood
Said, “I will die for thee.”
The Cross of Calvary was the place
Mu Savior died for me.
He took upon him all my sins
And gave God the glory.
He washed the feet of all the twelve.
My Savior showed to me,
That service must fill all my days
Unto eternity.
“Hallowed be thy name, O Lord”,
My Savior prayed for me.
Help me to hallow all they works,
As I kneel on bended knee.
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Saturday Nov 20, 2010
Saturday Nov 20, 2010
Harvey Humdinger
by Dane Allred
One day Harvey Humdinger was sitting around,
Just being quiet, not making a sound,
When out of the blue came a shy little voice,
That said, “Harvey, please help me to make a good choice.”
Harvey looked under the sofa and under the chair,
But saw that no one was found to be there.
“What was that small voice?” Harvey thought to himself.
“Could it come from the closet, or up on the shelf?”
And just when Harvey thought he must be deluded,
“My imagination’s acting up,” he concluded.
But just at that moment, he heard it again,
A voice that called out to Harvey, “Attention!”
“I’m trying to choose between right and wrong,
And you look so wise, trustworthy and strong,
I just know you can help me decide what is right,
And help me to grow, before I vanish from sight!”
Harvey thought to himself, “Such a small voice,
It’s not the small voice that guides me in a choice.
I wonder who could have a voice that’s so small?
I wonder if this voice is not there at all?
“I’m right here,” said the voice, “You can’t see me yet,
But I’m smaller than anyone you’ve ever met.
Just help me to do one thing that is right,
And I promise I’ll grow and appear in your sight.”
“What do you need to decide, my small friend?”
Said Harvey, “What kind of help can I lend?”
“Well, to help me out first, please tell me sir,
When I play with my best friend, should I be nice to her?”
Harvey had never heard of such a thing,
“Of course you should always be nice, and to everything.”
“Even my dog, or my cat when they’re cross?”
“Especially then.” “But what about Ross?”
Harvey scratched his head and wondered out loud,
“Who is Ross?” “He’s my brother, and he is quite proud,
Of being a nuisance and making me mad.”
“No matter what, be nice to the lad.”
“Be nice to friends? To Ross? Nice to All?
That is the secret of how to stand tall?”
And just at that moment, Harvey heard a strange sound,
A very strange sound that came up from the ground.
And suddenly standing before his very eyes,
Was a very small person of very small size!
“How do you do? And thanks for the advice,
You’ve helped me to grow to a size that’s quite nice.”
“I’m Arnold,” he said. “So what is your name?”
“I’m Harvey Humdinger. Say what is this game?”
“I’m sorry to say that it’s no game at all,
But my poor manners that have made me so small.”
“I was rude to my neighbors, my pets and my friends,
I drove my parents around many bends.
I was small and petty, and so one night
I simply vanished completely from sight!”
“Since that time I have wandered the earth,
To try to find someone, like you of great worth!
Someone who can help me to grow very tall,
To tell me the truth about one and all!”
Harvey sat Arnold down upon his knee,
And said, “Arnold, now please listen to me.
‘Be nice to all’, is a great place to start,
‘Please’ and ‘Thank You’ are a very large part.”
“But the thing I have learned that is of the most worth,
Since the day I appeared here upon this earth,
Is that no matter how small or how tall,
You must show love to one and to all.”
Arnold sat silently for quite a while,
And then suddenly he broke out in a smile.
“But Harvey, I do love all that I see,
And I hope everyone feels love from me.”
“I think no matter how tall or how small,
Love is the greatest gift of them all.
I will show my love to everyone now,
Since you’ve been so kind as to show me how.”
And Arnold grew up more in that minute,
Than in all his life and the minutes in it.
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Saturday Nov 20, 2010
Saturday Nov 20, 2010
Silly Old Nog
Silly old Nog walks backwards through life,
Carrying only a suitcase and knife.
Nog wanders here and Nog wanders there,
But never really arrives anywhere.
He trips over people along the way
Apologizing, “Excuse me, I pray,
But since I am walking backwards you see,
It’s really you who just ran into me.”
He says, “I’m backing up with this sharp knife,
So my dear friend, I have just saved your life,
But please watch your step, my dear little friend,
I’d rather not be run into again.”
And then that Old Nog would take down your name,
Reminding you that you’re really to blame,
Fold up that paper and lock it up tight,
Then warn you to leave and get out of sight.
“If you run into me again,
I will look up your paper and then
This knife won’t point so far away
But maybe straight at you
And maybe poke at you
And maybe stab at you
And maybe stab in you
--If you know what I say.”
If silly Nog would put that knife away,
And stop walking backwards for just one day
We’d all be safer and much better served
And Nog no longer would have to be heard.
Or bumped into.
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Friday Nov 19, 2010
Friday Nov 19, 2010
Love's Growth
by John Donne
I scarce believe my love to be so pure
As I had thought it was,
Because it doth endure
Vicissitude, and season, as the grass;
Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore
My love was infinite, if spring make it more.
But if medicine, love, which cures all sorrow
With more, not only be no quintessence,
But mixed of all stuffs paining soul or sense,
And of the sun his working vigor borrow,
Love’s not so pure, and abstract, as they use
To say, which have no mistress but their muse,
But as all else, being elemented too,
Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.
And yet no greater, but more eminent,
Love by the spring is grown;
As, in the firmament,
Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown,
Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough,
From love’s awakened root do bud out now.
If, as water stirred more circles be
Produced by one, love such additions take,
Those, like so many spheres, but one heaven make,
For they are all concentric unto thee;
And though each spring do add to love new heat,
As princes do in time of action get
New taxes, and remit them not in peace,
No winter shall abate the spring’s increase.
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Friday Nov 19, 2010
Friday Nov 19, 2010
The Devil's Little Brother-In-Law
by Parker Fillmore
THE STORY OF A YOUTH WHO COULDN'T FIND WORK
Once upon a time there was a youth named Peter. He was the son of a rich farmer but on his father's death his stepmother robbed him of his inheritance and drove him out into the world, penniless and destitute.
"Begone with you now!" she shouted. "Never let me see your face again!"
"Where shall I go?" Peter asked.
"Go to the Devil, for all I care!" the stepmother cried and slammed the door in his face.
Peter felt very sad at being driven away from the farm that had always been his home, but he was an able-bodied lad, industrious and energetic, and he thought he would have no trouble making his way in the world.
He tramped to the next village and stopped at a big farmhouse. The farmer was standing at the door, eating a great hunk of buttered bread.
Peter touched his hat respectfully and said:
"Let every one praise Lord Jesus!"
With his mouth stuffed full, the farmer responded:
"Until the Day of Judgment!" Then in a different tone he demanded: "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for work," Peter said. "Do you need a laborer?"
Peter was well dressed for he had on the last clothes his kind father had given him. The farmer looked him over and sneered.
"A fine laborer you would make! You would do good work at meals--I see that, and spend the rest of your time at cards and teasing the maids! I know your kind!"
Peter tried to tell the farmer that he was industrious and steady but with an oath the farmer told him to go to the Devil. Then stepping inside the house he slammed the door in Peter's face.
In the next village he applied for work at the bailiff's house. The bailiff's wife answered his knock.
"The master is playing cards with two of his friends," she said. "I'll go in and ask him if he has anything for you to do."
Peter heard her speak to someone inside and then a rough voice bellowed out:
"No! How often have I told you not to interrupt me when I'm busy! Tell the fellow to go to the Devil!"
Without waiting for the bailiff's wife, Peter turned away. Tired and discouraged he took a path into the woods and sat down.
"There doesn't seem to be any place for me in all the world," he thought to himself. "They all tell me to go to the Devil--my stepmother, the farmer, and now the bailiff. If I knew the way to hell I think I'd take their advice. I'm sure the Devil would treat me better than they do!"
Just then a handsome gentleman, dressed in green, walked by. Peter touched his hat politely and said:
"Let every one praise Lord Jesus."
The man passed him without responding. Then he looked back and asked Peter why he looked so discouraged.
"I have reason to look discouraged," Peter said. "Everywhere I ask for work they tell me to go to the Devil. If I knew the way to hell I think I'd take their advice and go."
The stranger smiled.
"But if you saw the Devil, don't you think you'd be afraid of him?"
Peter shook his head.
"He can't be any worse than my stepmother, or the farmer, or the bailiff."
The man suddenly turned black.
"Look at me!" he cried. "Here I am, the very person we've been talking about!"
With no show of fear Peter looked the Devil up and down.
Then the Devil said that if Peter still wished to enter his service, he would take him. The work would be light, the Devil said, and the hours good, and if Peter did as he was told he would have a pleasant time. The Devil promised to keep him seven years and at the end of that time to make him a handsome present and set him free.
Peter shook hands on the bargain and the Devil, taking him about the waist, whisked him up into the air, and, pst! before Peter knew what was happening, they were in hell.
The Devil gave Peter a leather apron and led him into a room where there were three big cauldrons.
"Now it's your duty," the Devil said, "to keep the fires under these cauldrons always burning. Keep four logs under the first cauldron, eight logs under the second, and twelve under the third. Be careful never to let the fires go out. And another thing, Peter: you're never to peep inside the cauldrons. If you do I'll drive you away without a cent of wages. Don't forget!"
So Peter began working for the Devil and the treatment he received was so much better than that which he had had on earth that, sometimes, it seemed to him he was in heaven rather than hell. He had plenty of good food and drink and, as the Devil had promised him, the work was not heavy.
For companions he had the young apprentice devils, a merry black crew, who told droll stories and played amusing pranks.
Time passed quickly. Peter was faithful at his work and never once peeped under the lids of his three cauldrons.
At last he began to grow homesick for the world and one day he asked the Devil how much longer he had still to serve.
"Tomorrow," the Devil told him, "your seven years are up."
The next day while Peter was piling fresh logs under the cauldrons, the Devil came to him and said:
"Today, Peter, you are free. You have served me faithfully and well and I am going to reward you handsomely. Money would be too heavy for you to carry, so I am going to give you this bag which is a magic bag. Whenever you open it and say: 'Bag, I need some ducats,' the bag will always have just as many as you need. Good luck go with you, Peter. However, I don't believe you'll have a very good time at first for people will think you're a devil. You know you do look pretty black for you haven't washed for seven years and you haven't cut your hair or nails."
"That's true," said Peter. "I just remember I haven't washed ever since I've been down here. I certainly must take a bath and get my hair cut and my nails trimmed."
The Devil shook his head.
"No, Peter, one bath won't do it. Water won't wash off the kind of black you get down here. I know what you must do but I won't tell you just yet. Go up into the world as you are and, if ever you need me, call me. If the people up there ask you who you are, tell them you're the Devil's little brother-in-law. This isn't a joke. It's true as you'll find out some day."
Peter then took leave of all the little black apprentices and the Devil whisked him up to earth and set him down in the forest on exactly the same spot where they had met seven years before.
The Devil disappeared and Peter, stuffing the magic bag in his pocket, walked to the nearest village.
His appearance created a panic. On sight of him the children ran screaming home, crying out:
"The Devil! The Devil is coming!"
Mothers and fathers ran out of the houses to see what was the matter but on sight of Peter they ran in again, barred all the doors and windows, and making the sign of the cross prayed God Almighty to protect them.
Peter went on to the tavern. The landlord and his wife were standing in the doorway. As Peter came toward them, they cried out in fright:
"O Lord, forgive us our sins! The Devil is coming!"
They tried to run away but they tripped over each other and fell down, and before they could scramble to their feet Peter stood before them.
He looked at them for a moment and laughed. Then he went inside the tavern, sat down, and said:
"Landlord, bring me a drink!"
Quaking with fright the landlord went to the cellar and drew a pitcher of beer. Then he called the little herd who was working in the stable.
"Yirik," he said to the boy, "take this beer into the house. There's a man in there waiting for it. He's a little strange looking but you needn't be afraid. He won't hurt you."
Yirik took the pitcher of beer and started in. He opened the door and then, as he caught sight of Peter, he dropped the pitcher and fled.
The landlord scolded him angrily.
"What do you mean," he shouted, "not giving the gentleman his beer? And breaking the pitcher, too! The price of it will be deducted from your wages! Draw another pitcher of beer and place it at once before the gentleman."
Yirik feared Peter but he feared the landlord more. He was an orphan, poor lad, and served the landlord for his keep and three dollars a year.
So with trembling fingers he drew a pitcher of beer and then, breathing a prayer to his patron saint, he slowly dragged himself into the tavern.
"There, there, boy," Peter called out kindly. "You needn't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not the Devil. I'm only his little brother-in-law."
Yirik took heart and placed the beer in front of Peter. Then he stood still, not daring to raise his eyes.
Peter began asking him about himself, who he was, how he came to be working for the landlord, and what kind of treatment he was receiving. Yirik stammered out his story and as he talked he forgot his fear, he forgot that Peter looked like a devil, and presently he was talking to him freely as one friend to another.
Peter was touched by the orphan's story and, pulling out his magic money bag, he filled Yirik's cap with golden ducats. The boy danced about the room with delight. Then he ran outside and showed the landlord and the people who had gathered the present which the strange gentleman had made him.
"And he says he's not the Devil," Yirik reported, "but only his brother-in-law."
When the landlord heard that Peter really hadn't any horns or a flaming tongue, he picked up courage and going inside he begged Peter to give him, too, a few golden ducats. But Peter only laughed at him.
Peter stayed at the tavern overnight. Just as he fell asleep someone shook his hand and, as he opened his eyes, he saw his old master standing beside him.
"Quick!" the Devil whispered. "Get up and hurry out to the shed! The landlord is about to murder the orphan for his money."
Peter jumped out of bed and ran outside to the shed where Yirik slept. He burst open the door just as the landlord was ready to stab the sleeping boy with a dagger.
"You sinner!" Peter cried. "I've caught you at last! Off to hell you go with me this instant to stew forever in boiling oil!"
The landlord fainted with terror. Peter dragged him senseless into the house. When he came to himself he fell on his knees before Peter and begged for mercy. He offered Peter everything he possessed if only Peter would grant him another chance and he solemnly vowed that he would repent and give up his evil ways.
At last Peter said:
"Very well. I'll give you another chance provided that, from this time on, you treat Yirik as your son. Be kind to him and send him to school. The moment you forget your promise and treat him cruelly, I'll come and carry you off to hell! Remember!"
There was no need to urge the landlord to remember. From that night he was a changed man. He became honest in all his dealings and he really did treat Yirik as though he were his own son.
Peter stayed on at the tavern and stories about him and his golden ducats began to spread through the country-side. The prince of the land heard of him and sent word that he would like to see him at the castle. Peter answered the prince's messenger that if the prince wished to see him he could come to the tavern.
"Who is this prince of yours," Peter asked the landlord, "and why does he want to see me?"
"He'd probably like to borrow some money from you," the landlord said. "He's deep in debt for he has two of the wickedest, most extravagant daughters in the world. They're the children of his first marriage. They are proud and haughty and they waste the money of the realm as though it were so much sand. The people are crying out against them and their wasteful ways but the prince seems unable to curb them. The prince has a third daughter, the child of his second wife. Her name is Angelina and she certainly is as good and beautiful as an angel. We call her the Princess Linka. There isn't a man in the country that wouldn't go through fire and water for her--God bless her! As for the other two--may the Devil take them!"
Suddenly remembering himself, the landlord clapped his hand to his mouth in alarm.
Peter laughed good-humoredly.
"That's all right, landlord. Don't mind me. As I've told you before I'm not the Devil. I'm only his little brother-in-law."
The landlord shook his head.
"Yes, I know, but I must say it seems much the same to me."
One afternoon the prince came riding down to the tavern and asked for Peter. He was horrified at first by Peter's appearance, but he treated him most politely, invited him to the castle, and ended by begging the loan of a large sum of money.
Peter said to the prince:
"I'll give you as much money as you want provided you let me marry one of your daughters."
The prince wasn't prepared for this but he needed money so badly that he said:
"H'm, which one of them?"
"I'm not particular," Peter answered. "Any of them will do."
When he gave the prince some money in advance, the prince agreed and Peter promised to come to the castle the next day to meet his bride to be.
The prince when he got home told his daughters that he had seen Peter. They questioned him about Peter's appearance and asked him what sort of a looking person this brother-in-law of the Devil was.
"He isn't so very ugly," the prince said, "really he isn't. If he washed his face and trimmed his hair and nails he'd be fairly good-looking. In fact I rather like him."
He then talked to them very seriously about the state of the treasury and he told them that unless he could raise a large sum of money shortly there was danger of an uprising among the people.
"If you, my daughters, wish to see the peace of the country preserved, if you want to make me happy in my old age, one of you will have to marry this young man, for I see no other way to raise the money."
At this the two older princesses tossed their heads scornfully and laughed loud and long.
"You may rest assured, dear father, that neither of us will marry such a creature! We are the daughters of a prince and won't marry beneath us, no, not even to save the country from ruin!"
"Then I don't know what I'll do," the prince said.
"Father," whispered Linka, the youngest. Her voice quavered and her face turned pale. "Father, if your happiness and the peace of the country depend on this marriage, I will sacrifice myself, God help me!"
"My child! My dear child!" the prince cried, taking Linka in his arms and kissing her tenderly.
The two elder sisters jeered and ha-ha-ed.
"Little sister-in-law of the Devil!" they said mockingly. "Now if you were to marry Prince Lucifer himself that would be something, for at least you would be a princess! But only to be his sister-in-law--ha! ha!--what does that amount to?"
And they laughed with amusement and made nasty evil jokes until poor little Linka had to put her hands to her ears not to hear them.
The next day Peter came to the castle. The older sisters, when they saw how black he was were glad enough they had refused to marry him. As for Linka, the moment she looked at him she fainted dead away.
When she revived the prince led her over to Peter and gave Peter her hand. She was trembling violently and her hand was cold as marble.
"Don't be afraid, little princess," Peter whispered to her gently. "I know how awful I look. But perhaps I won't always be so ugly. I promise you, if you marry me, I shall always love you dearly."
Linka was greatly comforted by the sound of his pleasant voice, but each time she looked at him she was terrified anew.
Peter saw this and made his visit short. He handed out to the prince as much money as he needed and then, after agreeing to return in eight days for the wedding, he hurried off.
He went to the place where he had met the Devil the first time and called him by name with all his might.
The Devil instantly appeared.
"What do you want, little brother-in-law?"
"I want to look like myself again," Peter said. "What good will it do me to marry a sweet little princess and then have the poor girl faint away every time she looks at me!"
"Very well, brother-in-law. If that is how you feel about it, come along with me and I'll soon make you into a handsome young man."
Peter leaped on the Devil's back and off they flew over mountains and forests and distant countries.
They alighted in a deep forest beside a bubbling spring.
"Now, little brother-in-law," the Devil said, "wash in this water and see how handsome you'll soon be."
Peter threw off his clothes and jumped into the water and when he came out his skin was as beautiful and fresh as a girl's. He looked at his own reflection in the spring and it made him so happy that he said to the Devil:
"Brother-in-law, I'm more grateful to you for this than for all the money you've given me. Now my dear Linka will love me!"
He put his arms about the Devil's neck and off they flew once again. This time they went to a big city where Peter bought beautiful clothes and jewels and coaches and horses. He engaged servants in fine livery and, when he was ready to go to his bride, he had a following that was worthy of any prince.
At the castle the Princess Linka paced her chamber pale and trembling. The two older sisters were with her, laughing heartlessly and making evil jokes, and running every moment to the window to see if the groom were coming.
At last they saw in the distance a long line of shining coaches with outriders in rich livery. The coaches drew up at the castle gate and from the first one a handsome youth, arrayed like a prince, alighted. He hurried into the castle and ran straight upstairs to Linka's chamber.
At first Linka was afraid to look at him for she supposed he was still black. But when he took her hand and whispered: "Dear Linka, look at me now and you won't be frightened," she looked and it seemed to her that Peter was the very handsomest young man in all the world. She fell in love with him on sight and I might as well tell you she's been in love with him ever since.
The two older sisters stood at the window frozen stiff with envy and surprise. Suddenly they felt some one clutch them from behind. They turned in fright and who did they see standing there but the Devil himself!
"Don't be afraid, my dear brides," he said. "I'm not a common fellow. I'm Prince Lucifer himself. So, in becoming my brides you are not losing rank!"
Then he turned to Peter and chuckled.
"You see now, Peter, why you are my brother-in-law. You're marrying one sister and I'm taking the other two!"
With that he picked up the two wicked sisters under his arm and puff! with a whiff of sulphur they all three disappeared through the ceiling.
The Princess Linka as she clung to her young husband asked a little fearfully:
"Peter, do you suppose we'll have to see our brother-in-law often?"
"Not if you make me a good wife," Peter said.
And you can understand what a good wife Linka became when I tell you that never again all her life long did she see the Devil.
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Thursday Nov 18, 2010
Thursday Nov 18, 2010
FINGERNAIL FILE
Growth can come from bad experiences. We tend to learn better when there is pain involved. I get a reminder to be more careful every time I trim my fingernails.
We have some really old cabinets from the 1970's in the kitchen, and updating them would have set us back several thousand dollars. As school teachers with summers off, sometimes we do the work instead of hiring it out. The dark stain on the cabinets was atrocious, and I determined to take one of the cabinets down and sand the darkness off. Certainly a coat of light oak over the veneer would look better than the darkness that dominated the kitchen, and after the first cabinet was done, Debbie declared she liked it. Since then she has said she would like to put them downstairs and get new cabinets, but for two summers I was a dedicated sander and stainer, making those old cabinets look like new. They don't look bad if I do say so myself. So what if it took two years?
Sanding with a belt sander was a new adventure for me, and as I have become used to scarifying myself, I was very careful. I even made it through the first summer with minimal damage; mostly some sanded skin which grows back quickly. The project was looking great, and here I was in the second summer, ready to finish off the last door of the section I was going to get done before school started. After this section, there was the pesky lower section by the sink, but that would have to wait. I was determined to get this part done before I started teaching again.
One of the problems with a belt sander is that the belt doesn't always sit securely on the sander, and no matter how I pried this particular belt, it didn't want to cooperate. There was only a sliver of belt left to get onto the sander, and whatever I tried didn't work. It seemed as if I could use my little finger to get it into the small slot, but it just wouldn't budge.
Perhaps if I turned on the sander.
And as quickly as that, my little finger zipped through the sander. The belt was now seated correctly, but from what I could tell, I had just sanded off the fingernail on my right pinkie. It was hard to tell because the blood was gushing out. I only had a little bit of cabinet left to sand, and I knew from past experience that after an injury like this, I wouldn't feel much like sanding after today. So I figured if I just wrapped my finger up in some paper towels, it might bleed slowly enough for me to finish this last door. Then at least when I went to stain these cabinets later, they would be all done. So, with the energy a fresh burst of pain gives you, I sanded away and got the last part done in a jiffy, thanks to the brand new belt which was now on the sander. It may have been a little bloody, but it chewed up the wood like a champ.
I went into the house and unwrapped the pinkie. It was bright red and very sore. I couldn't see any fingernail left. I smeared some Neosporin on it and wrapped it up in a few band-aids. I knew from my toenail experience earlier in my life that it would grow back, and based on how nice my new toenail looks, I was hopeful for another beautiful replacement.
That was not to be. Apparently, I sanded off all but the smallest corner of my fingernail. I guess it would be the rightmost part, since the nail grew back, but it grew back sideways. Now when I cut that fingernail, it is off to the side about twenty degrees, and sometimes is still painful, especially if I cut it short. I know from experience that the doctors can fix it, but I don't mind it so much; especially when I look at my other scars on my right hand.
There are several cuts from my woodcarving adventures. My hand aches when the weather changes because I broke one of the bones in my little finger. I’ve jammed fingers so many times I know I need to wait a year before all the swelling goes down and my digits get back to normal size. My thumb pops and cracks and often aches, but that also runs in the family.
But all these scars, emotional, mental and genetic are good. I am all of the experiences I’ve had, and maybe one of these days I’ll learn not to stick my nose, or my little finger, where it doesn’t belong. Then again, maybe not.
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SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Wednesday Nov 17, 2010
Wednesday Nov 17, 2010
Increase
To guarantee my mind complete peace
I’d have money and smarts without cease.
I would just like some growth
Why can’t I have both
Can't my knowledge and wealth both increase?
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Wednesday Nov 10, 2010
Wednesday Nov 10, 2010
This is the complete episode of "Abundance" called "Humor" from Nov. 7th.
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SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Tuesday Nov 09, 2010
Tuesday Nov 09, 2010
The Office Bore
by Mark Twain
He arrives just as regularly as the clock strikes nine in the morning. And so he even beats the editor sometimes, and the porter must leave his work and climb two or three pairs of stairs to unlock the "Sanctum" door and let him in. He lights one of the office pipes--not reflecting, perhaps, that the editor may be one of those "stuck-up" people who would as soon have a stranger defile his tooth-brush as his pipe-stem. Then he begins to loll--for a person who can consent to loaf his useless life away in ignominious indolence has not the energy to sit up straight. He stretches full length on the sofa awhile; then draws up to half length; then gets into a chair, hangs his head back and his arms abroad, and stretches his legs till the rims of his boot-heels rest upon the floor; by and by sits up and leans forward, with one leg or both over the arm of the chair. But it is still observable that with all his changes of position, he never assumes the upright or a fraudful affectation of dignity.
From time to time he yawns, and stretches, and scratches himself with a tranquil, mangy enjoyment, and now and then he grunts a kind of stuffy, overfed grunt, which is full of animal contentment. At rare and long intervals, however, he sighs a sigh that is the eloquent expression of a secret confession, to wit "I am useless and a nuisance, a cumberer of the earth." The bore and his comrades--for there are usually from two to four on hand, day and night--mix into the conversation when men come in to see the editors for a moment on business; they hold noisy talks among themselves about politics in particular, and all other subjects in general--even warming up, after a fashion, sometimes, and seeming to take almost a real interest in what they are discussing. They ruthlessly call an editor from his work with such a remark as: "Did you see this, Smith, in the Gazette?" and proceed to read the paragraph while the sufferer reins in his impatient pen and listens; they often loll and sprawl round the office hour after hour, swapping anecdotes and relating personal experiences to each other-- hairbreadth escapes, social encounters with distinguished men, election reminiscences, sketches of odd characters, etc. And through all those hours they never seem to comprehend that they are robbing the editors of their time, and the public of journalistic excellence in next day's paper.
At other times they drowse, or dreamily pore over exchanges, or droop limp and pensive over the chair-arms for an hour. Even this solemn silence is small respite to the editor, for the next uncomfortable thing to having people look over his shoulders, perhaps, is to have them sit by in silence and listen to the scratching of his pen. If a body desires to talk private business with one of the editors, he must call him outside, for no hint milder than blasting-powder or nitroglycerin would be likely to move the bores out of listening-distance.
To have to sit and endure the presence of a bore day after day; to feel your cheerful spirits begin to sink as his footstep sounds on the stair, and utterly vanish away as his tiresome form enters the door; to suffer through his anecdotes and die slowly to his reminiscences; to feel always the fetters of his clogging presence; to long hopelessly for one single day's privacy; to note with a shudder, by and by, that to contemplate his funeral in fancy has ceased to soothe, to imagine him undergoing in strict and fearful detail the tortures of the ancient Inquisition has lost its power to satisfy the heart, and that even to wish him millions and millions and millions of miles in Tophet is able to bring only a fitful gleam of joy; to have to endure all this, day after day, and week after week, and month after month, is an affliction that transcends any other that men suffer.
Physical pain is pastime to it, and hanging a pleasure excursion.
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Tuesday Nov 09, 2010
Tuesday Nov 09, 2010
An Encounter With An Interviewer
by Mark Twain
The nervous, dapper, "peart" young man took the chair I offered him, and said he was connected with the Daily Thunderstorm, and added:
"Hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview you."
"Come to what?"
"Interview you."
"Ah! I see. Yes--yes. Um! Yes--yes."
I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my powers seemed a bit under a cloud. However, I went to the bookcase, and when I had been looking six or seven minutes I found I was obliged to refer to the young man. I said:
"How do you spell it?"
"Spell what?"
"Interview."
"Oh, my goodness! what do you want to spell it for?"
"I don't want to spell it; I want to see what it means."
"Well, this is astonishing, I must say. I can tell you what it means, if you--if you--"
"Oh, all right! That will answer, and much obliged to you, too."
"In, in, ter, ter, inter--"
"Then you spell it with an h"
“Why certainly!"
"Oh, that is what took me so long."
"Why, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell it with?"
"Well, I--I--hardly know. I had the Unabridged, and I was ciphering around in the back end, hoping I might tree her among the pictures. But it's a very old edition."
"Why, my friend, they wouldn't have a picture of it in even the latest e--- My dear sir, I beg your pardon, I mean no harm in the world, but you do not look as--as--intelligent as I had expected you would. No harm-- I mean no harm at all."
"Oh, don't mention it! It has often been said, and by people who would not flatter and who could have no inducement to flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that way. Yes--yes; they always speak of it with rapture."
"I can easily imagine it. But about this interview. You know it is the custom, now, to interview any man who has become notorious."
"Indeed, I had not heard of it before. It must be very interesting. What do you do it with?"
"Ah, well--well--well--this is disheartening. It ought to be done with a club in some cases; but customarily it consists in the interviewer asking questions and the interviewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring out the salient points of your public and private history?"
"Oh, with pleasure—with pleasure. I have a very bad memory, but I hope you will not mind that. That is to say, it is an irregular memory-- singularly irregular. Sometimes it goes in a gallop, and then again it will be as much as a fortnight passing a given point. This is a great grief to me."
"Oh, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best you can."
"I will. I will put my whole mind on it."
"Thanks. Are you ready to begin?"
"Ready."
Q. How old are you?
A. Nineteen, in June. __
Q. Indeed. I would have taken you to be thirty-five or six. Where were you born?
A. In Missouri.
Q. When did you begin to write?
A. In 1836.
Q. Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen now?
A. I don't know. It does seem curious, somehow.
Q. It does, indeed. Whom do you consider the most remarkable man you ever met?
A. Aaron Burr.
Q. But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are only nineteen years!
A. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do you ask me for?
Q. Well, it was only a suggestion; nothing more. How did you happen to meet Burr?
A. Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day, and he asked me to make less noise, and--
Q. But, good heavens! if you were at his funeral, he must have been dead, and if he was dead how could he care whether you made a noise or not?
A. I don't know. He was always a particular kind of a man that way.
Q. Still, I don't understand it at all, You say he spoke to you, and that he was dead.
A. I didn't say he was dead.
Q. But wasn't he dead?
A. Well, some said he was, some said he wasn't.
Q. What did you think?
A. Oh, it was none of my business! It wasn't any of my funeral.
Q. Did you--However, we can never get this matter straight. Let me ask about something else. What was the date of your birth?
A. Monday, October 31, 1693.
Q. What! Impossible! That would make you a hundred and eighty years old. How do you account for that?
A. I don't account for it at all.
Q. But you said at first you were only nineteen, and now you make yourself out to be one hundred and eighty. It is an awful discrepancy.
A. Why, have you noticed that? (Shaking hands.) Many a time it has seemed to me like a discrepancy, but somehow I couldn't make up my mind. How quick you notice a thing!
Q. Thank you for the compliment, as far as it goes. Had you, or have you, any brothers or sisters?
A. Eh! I--I--I think so--yes--but I don't remember.
Q. Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I ever heard!
A. Why, what makes you think that?
Q. How could I think otherwise? Why, look here! Who is this a picture of on the wall? Isn't that a brother of yours?
A. Oh, yes, yes, yes! Now you remind me of it; that was a brother of mine. That's William--Bill we called him. Poor old Bill!
Q. Why? Is he dead, then?
A. Ah! well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There was a great mystery about it.
Q. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared, then?
A. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him.
Q. Buried him! Buried him, without knowing whether he was dead or not?
A. Oh, no! Not that. He was dead enough.
Q. Well, I confess that I can't understand this. If you buried him, and you knew he was dead
A. No! no! We only thought he was.
Q. Oh, I see! He came to life again?
A. I bet he didn't.
Q. Well, I never heard anything like this. Somebody was dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was the mystery?
A. Ah! that's just it! That's it exactly. You see, we were twins-- defunct--and I--and we got mixed in the bathtub when we were only two weeks old, and one of us was drowned. But we didn't know which. Some think it was Bill. Some think it was me.
Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do you think?
A. Goodness knows! I would give whole worlds to know. This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom over my whole life. But I will tell you a secret now, which I never have revealed to any creature before. One of us had a peculiar mark--a large mole on the back of his left hand; that was me. That child was the one that was drowned!
Q. Very well, then, I don't see that there is any mystery about it, after all.
A. You don't? Well, I do. Anyway, I don't see how they could ever have been such a blundering lot as to go and bury the wrong child. But, 'sh! --don't mention it where the family can hear of it. Heaven knows they have heartbreaking troubles enough without adding this.
Q. Well, I believe I have got material enough for the present, and I am very much obliged to you for the pains you have taken. But I was a good deal interested in that account of Aaron Burr's funeral. Would you mind telling me what particular circumstance it was that made you think Burr was such a remarkable man?
A. Oh! it was a mere trifle! Not one man in fifty would have noticed it at all. When the sermon was over, and the procession all ready to start for the cemetery, and the body all arranged nice in the hearse, he said he wanted to take a last look at the scenery, and so he got up and rode with the driver.
Then the young man reverently withdrew. He was very pleasant company, and I was sorry to see him go.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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