Chapter 31, quite a moving poem. I don't know why but images flashed through my mind of the actual toys that Charles Linbergh played with as a youth in Little Falls, Minnesota.

Little Falls, the birth place of Lindbergh, is about 70 miles north of where I lived in Willmar, Minnesota. The one day that I and my brother stopped by, on our way to visit some relatives north of Little Falls, little did we know that Anne Morrow Lindbergh would be there. We missed hearing her speak by a half hour. (Later I did get to meet their daughter Reeve.)

That day, which was commemorating the opening of an interpretation center for Charles Lindbergh, the whole house was open and my brother and I got to go upstairs and see his bedroom and on a book shelf were toy soldiers, and other toys that he had as a child. At least we know what became of Charles Lindbergh.

Later when I stopped the whole upstairs was closed off to the public. If you ever in the area do stop by as it is very intersting.

Also, just forty-five miles from Willmar is Sauk Centre, home of Sinclair Lewis, and just as Green Town is Waukegon, Sauk Centre was the town in Main Street.

The funniest poem I’ve ready lately:

Some dogs point at pheasant,
and some dogs point at hares.
But my dog just sits
and points at Frigidaires.

I've had several dogs like that!
Reminds me of a quote by one of my favourite writers, Robert Benchley:

A boy can learn a lot from a dog: obedience, loyalty, and the importance of turning around three times before lying down.

double
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This message has been edited. Last edited by: Nard Kordell,

Dogs!
Now there's a subject worth discussing.
(By the way, has Bradbury ever owned...a dog?)

Been watching a movie series of 'The Thin Man'. Of course the dog Asta is a character thruout the series. And, yes, just why do dogs take on some sort of strange human sense about themselves...a sort of tinge of people personality? Moments there are that set you stopping whatever you are doing to simply gaze into the eyes of the ol' pooch and realize that he knows everything you are about! It's unexplainable. Sort of half dog and 5% people, and the rest is some ethereal creature that walks upon the face of this earth knowing stuff just enough about everyone and everything to make a man and woman cry when it departs to the heavenlies. My dog is Peter. Named him so ...for when he was born (at home)...one foot was both white with a mixture of black, as if his feet were dusty and needed washing. Thought of the story of ol' St. Peter, whom Christ wanted to wash his feet and he said No way! Well, all that reminded me of that event, and so called him Peter. I mentioned this to some ol' crabby lady where I worked in Chicago and she nearly fell over backwards when I mentioned his name, horrified that one would name a 'dog'...a 'dog'' with a saint's name. Golly! & Gee Wiz!
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“My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian.”
--From “A Dog’s Tale” by Mark Twain (1904)

Hmm!!

Let's see.... I don't trust this Mark Twain guy. I don't think that's even his real name....

From dogs to a whale. Nard, I concur with your assessment regarding dogs. They are wonderful warm creatures that deserve the title associated with them. Although I love cats too, cats just don't have the heart like a good dog does. Cats are like Martians, all mysterious and stuff. Our dog is a part Border Collie/Shephard named Nyla (kid's pronunciation of Nala from Lion King) that we got from the pound when she was a puppy. She has wonderful multi colors of brown, white, and black. Very smart, protective dog, she used to herd the kids around in the yard with her nose when they were little. She loves attention and has alot of energy, gets mischievous when she doesn't get her walk. She is seven now. The eyes say it all though. A cross between big brown horse eyes and lion eyes. Enough about my dog, this was on my calendar for today(it has quotes, poetry snippets, and different definitions)for which I started this post.


There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness. And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces.

Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

Nard,
Sam Clemens would probably smile for two weeks over a statement like that.

Dogs have masters.
Cats have staff.

Bradbury did own a dog in childhood as "Bless Me, Father" is partly autobiographical. When he moved to more populous areas he gave up on dogs as they escaped and were run over too easily and cats were easier to keep contained. It wasn't that he didn't love dogs as much as cats. He did love them as much, or more, but found it too painful to risk losing something he loved so much.

quote:

Originally posted by Braling II:
Hey, Biplane, yes it was a thrill meeting Mr. Price! The venue was a discussion of art and museums (musea?) in which he was an expert. He began his talk berating the audience for having gone to the famous museums like The Louvre, The Prado, etc. while having neglected local ones. Then he discussed some artists and works and concluded with the poem - from memory, I might add! It was at a wine and cheese reception afterward that I got to meet him. He was tall!
I envy you your having met Hans Conreid!
By the way, Vincent Price began his career as a leading man on stage and in film, even singing in some early pictures!
This is a pretty good site:
http://www.angelfire.com/film/rdsquires/

I was privileged to meet Vincent Price and hear him recite The Conqueror Worm as well. He was giving a talk on how villains were so much more fun to play than leading men.

He is tall! After he autographed the special Vincent Price issue of Famous Monsters Magazine for me I said, "Thank you," and he replied with, "Oh no, thank you!" And kissed me on top of the head.

Someone should take priceless anecdotes like this and put them all together in a book or pamphlet.

Right know I am reading Fahrenheit 451. It is a really good book so far and I am excited to see what happens to Montag and Clarisse.

haha. im in your class.