daneallred

Ladder Follies

Ladder Follies

I’m reminded of this story from a few years ago because I’ve been painting the porch recently. I’ve told a little about it before, but here’s the full version.

It's still the same summer, I'm still painting "elephant" over the old aluminum siding, and if I do say so myself, it is looking very good indeed. I am so pleased with the results I almost can't wait to be done to see how the house looks when completed.

One problem area of the house has been the northwest corner. The ground descends from the front yard where extra dirt had been brought in during construction. The ground is uneven, and painting this high side of the house is a challenge. I had problems several years ago when I tried to paint all the trim green. After falling from this corner and spilling the paint at the same time, I simply quit and left the rest of the back trim brown. After cleaning up green paint off the stucco on the corner, I threw in the towel.

Determined not to be outdone by the corner architecture this time, I had an extra tall and sturdy ladder for painting the trim. Unfortunately, the grape arbor built on that side had grown tremendously during the past years, and I was forced to push the ladder up through vines. All was going well until I reached the dreaded corner. The ladder could be opened for stability, but the arbor wood was in the way. The solution? Lean the ladder against the wood frame of the grape arbor.

I had forgotten these particular posts were not the most stable of the bunch. In fact, as I climbed up to the tallest part of the corner with my feet at least ten feet off the ground; I was reaching to paint sideways. As I leaned in to get the last parts, the grape arbor began to move away from me under the ladder. As the ladder descended in slow motion, it literally took my feet out from underneath me with it. I was now hurtling to the earth from fifteen feet up.

To understand the landing, it's important that I explain that I had watered this section of lawn earlier that day, after having fertilized with the broadcast spreader. The ground was soaked; there were tiny white pieces of fertilizer scattered around. Perhaps the water had softened it up a bit. But the ground did seem very solid.

I landed flat on my back. The wind was knocked out of me, and as I gasped for breath, I realized I was laying in a pool of water , mud and fertilizer. I rolled on my side, and my back popped a bit, which I considered a good sign. At least I could roll, and my back didn't seem to be broken. Popping a couple of vertebrae actually seemed to lessen the pain, but I still didn't know if I could stand up - or even if I should stand up.

As usual, no one else was home for me to even call for help. I had just locked the dogs in the kennel so I could concentrate on painting that obstinate corner. So I couldn't depend on a Lassie moment where Kase or Kurbis could run to the neighbors and somehow communicate that Dane had done it again.

I resigned myself to the fact that I had to rescue myself, and, of course, this wouldn't be the last time. I rolled slowly to my knees and gradually sat up. Besides being covered in mud and ammonium sulfate, I considered myself lucky to be alive, with no broken bones.

I stood slowly and looked at the ladder. The wood arch of the grape arbor was at a 45 degree angle to the ground, with the ladder lying on top of it. I didn't think it was going anywhere. I looked around for the paint - at least this time I hadn't painted the foundation. I put the lid on the paint, let the dogs out of the kennel, took them and the brush in the house and took off my clothes and left them on the back porch.

After putting on some sweats and taking some ibuprofen, I laid down on the bed to marvel at the persistence of my guardian angel. I waited a few days before going back up to paint the heavens, but I knew if I waited too long the back of the house would go undone again. I chose an easy part to paint on the short back side, and regained my ladder confidence back a few strokes at a time. I eventually got the rest of the house painted without falling from a ladder again. Give me a while. I’ll fall again.

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Abundance Giving Oct. 31

This is the complete episode of "Abundance" called "Giving" from October 31st.

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Broken Humor limerick by Dane Allred

Broken Humor

True. I’ve broken my fibula bone,

It bears no weight so leave it alone,

Breaking your humerus

Just isn’t humorous

But it’s better to laugh than to moan.

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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--

Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;

This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--

'Tis the wind and nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour

Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--

Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--

On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--

Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted--nevermore!

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Sunrise on the Hills by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch

Was glorious with the sun's returning march,

And woods were brightened, and soft gales

Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,

They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,

And, in their fading glory, shone

Like hosts in battle overthrown.

As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.

Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,

And rocking on the cliff was left

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.

The veil of cloud was lifted, and below

Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow

Was darkened by the forest's shade,

Or glistened in the white cascade;

Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,

The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

I heard the distant waters dash,

I saw the current whirl and flash,

And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,

The woods were bending with a silent reach.

Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,

The music of the village bell

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;

And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,

Was ringing to the merry shout,

That faint and far the glen sent out,

Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,

Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.

If thou art worn and hard beset

With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,

If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep

Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,

Go to the woods and hills! No tears

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

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The Tell-tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe -- text with audio by Dane Allred

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TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously -- cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back -- but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, "Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions; but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.

It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! -- do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me -- the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once -- once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.

I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye -- not even his -- could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.

When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock -- still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, -- for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search -- search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.

No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed -- I raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! -- no, no? They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

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Edgar Allan Poe -- Biography Out Loud

Master of mystery and the macabre, he may be one of America’s most famous writers. Well respected in France, his works were translated there by Charles Baudelaire. Married to his 13 year-old cousin, she died only seven years later, and “the death of a beautiful woman” became one of this writer’s frequent themes. Known best for his scary short stories and poems, who is this writer born January 19^th, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts?

We’ll find out in a moment on Biography Out Loud.

Edgar Allan Poe’s father abandoned his family, and Poe’s mother died a year later. Never formally adopted by the Allan’s, Poe and his foster father had a turbulent relationship. Poe signed with the U.S. Army as “Edgar A. Perry”, later deciding to try to end his enlistment early. Revealing his false identity, his commanding officer made Poe write to his foster father who later supported the discharge. Poe found someone to replace him in Army, and John Allan wrote in support of Poe enlisting in West Point. Edgar Allan Poe was also later discharged from there.

Though a struggling writer most of his life, “The Raven” made him famous overnight although he was only paid nine dollars for the poem. Known for “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Black Cat”, “Annabelle Lee” and “A Cask of Amontillado”, Poe was one of the first writer’s to attempt to make a living full-time from his work. Found disoriented and wandering the streets of Baltimore on October 3^rd, 1849, Poe died four days later, only 40 years old.

One hundred years after his birth, cognac and three roses were left on his grave. The tradition carried on for more than 60 years. When the “Poe Toaster” didn’t appear in 2010, leading to speculation the person who has carried on this tradition may have died.

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Giving up or giving in? a limerick by Dane Allred

Giving up or giving in?

When I try something new for a while,

It ends up with a frown or a smile.

I like it, I do it.

I hate it, I’m through it,

It’s a good thing I’m adjustibile.

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Paradise Paranoia

More than 15 years ago, my wife Debbie had bone cancer. After surgeries, hospitalization and chemotherapy, she was upbeat even when she lost her hair. Now it’s been 15 years, and she’s still here and kicking. I remember back to how brave she was to go to school and teach with a fanny pack hanging around her waist. It was pumping chemotherapy directly into her heart.

Very soon after Debbie's last chemo treatment we were given a week's vacation to Hawaii by her parents. The kids weren't very old, maybe 13 and 10, and Debbie was still very weak, but we were all excited for our first trip to Hawaii.

I think it was supposed to be a time for Debbie to rest, but who knows when we would ever get back again, so I kept her entertained and tired, and after it was over she had to return home to rest from her vacation.

We stayed on the island of Oahu the entire week visiting the Polynesian Cultural Center, the Dole Pineapple Plantation, the North Shore for shaved ice, and we even went twice to Hanauma Bay to snorkel. Debbie couldn't do much more than sit on the shore and soak up the sun, which is not such a bad thing in Hawaii.

She did try to go in the water once and feed the fish, but they mobbed her and she had to get out. I was just glad she was doing better, and it was fun for the family to have some time together.

I continued my usual introspection by discovering an ingrown hair on a very disturbing place which shall not be revealed at this time. Suffice it say that any man with an ingrown hair there would freak out just as I did. I didn't want to ruin the vacation by insisting on a visit to the hospital, and it didn't seem to be spreading or causing any disfiguration, so I decided to be manly about it and wait until we returned to the states.

For all I knew, I was the victim of a special kind of cancer that no one discussed and I had never heard of before. We had been dealing with cancer for over a year now, and I think it was natural that this thought came across my mind. I almost went crazy with anticipation wondering if I would live or die.

Dr. Wylie just laughed when I finally showed up in his office. He expected it to clear up with no residual effects, and he was correct. I continue to function normally, if you know what I mean.

The other event that confirms my lack of brain cells occurred on the east side of the island away from the crowds of Waikiki Beach, thank goodness.

It was a beautiful beach which we had almost entirely to ourselves, just past the blowhole and sort of by the Buddhist temple which we had visited previously. The koi were so thick at the Buddhist temple that there seemed to be no water in the stream.

But at this pristine beach there was what appeared to be a blob of blue bubble gum marring the sands. I was quite indignant that someone would be careless enough to spit out their gum on this wonderful beach, and my indignation led me to action. I bent over and picked up the gum.

It stung me.

I was puzzled, since I had never been stung by a wad of gum before. It was one of the strangest things I have ever experienced, and with my lack of brain cells, I did the only thing I could think of.

I picked it up again.

And it stung me again. This time I threw it to the ground, which meant I threw it on my calf, whereupon I was stung again.

I was completely dumbfounded. As I looked more closely at this wad of gum on the beach, I noticed a long thin string which extended into the ocean emanating from the blue blob. Slowly I realized I was looking at a blue jellyfish, and I think it was a Portuguese Man'O'War jellyfish. Which apparently extends parts of itself out to sting unsuspecting prey like me.

I was now hurting like I had been stung in three places by a giant bee. I commented on the stings to my wife who only laughed. She had been through so much worse, and I’ve injured myself so regularly she knows better than to pity me. Someone nearby must have heard what had happened and commented that urine usually took the pain out of the sting. I immediately went to the restrooms.

I haven't picked up blue bubble gum from the beach since, and I advise you to avoid it, too.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

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Abundance Friends Oct. 24th

This is the complete episode of Abundance "Friends" from Oct. 24th

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

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Friends