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Once upon a time, in the middle of the deep dark forest, there lived a troll. He was a harmless, quiet creature, who kept a little cottage and a garden, and who grew flowers, and never bothered anybody. He kept to himself and never thought about the world outside the forest. Then one day a bird flying over the cottage let fall a seed from its beak, which landed in the garden of the troll. It took root immediately, and began to grow into a large rose bush. The troll watered it and hoed and weeded around it, and gave it fertilizer, and it sprouted branches and the branches sprouted buds and the buds burst into deep red blooms. It was the most beautiful rose bush the troll had ever seen. He pulled up the zinnias and herbs nearby so that it would have more room, and pruned it so that it would grow more thickly. Time went on. The rose bush became as large as his cottage, and drove out everthing else in his garden, but the troll didn't care. He spent all day long caring for the rose bush, which rewarded him by growing steadily more beautiful. Then one day a procession wound through the forest. Musicians and children with baskets went first, playing a whirl of bright songs and scattering flowers along the path. Then came ladies in waiting, each dressed in a different shade of silk, and mounted on a magnificent white mare. After them there rode knights, each a champion, each riding a prancing charger and wearing a different colored plume in his helmet and carrying a shield with a fantastic device painted on it. Then, at the very end, came a coach, with footmen and driver all in red livery, and the coach red to match and trimmed with pure gold. The coach stopped, and the door opened, and a beautiful woman got out. She went to the edge of the troll's garden and stood looking at the rose bush. As she looked, all her beauty drooped. "I can never match this," she said. She turned away, looking old and plain, and got back into her coach, and went away, the music stilled, and the children's baskets empty. When she reached her home, outside the forest, the troll heard later, she soon died of grief. When he heard this, the troll went out to look at his rose, and a little shiver went through him. He wondered if there were not something evil in such a blood red beauty as this. But he put the thought away, and went for the pruning shears and clipped off some yellowing leaves. A few months later, another parade came through the forest. These were young men, making their horses cavort, and whooping and calling out challenges to one another. Bright as sunlight, they came up to the troll's garden. Among them was the prince of a kingdom outside the forest. He came forward, dismounted from his horse, and went to stand before the rose bush. As he looked on the rose bush, the light went out of him. He sagged. His face darkened. He said, "I can never be as fine and perfect as this." He turned away, and went to his horse and mounted and trudged away, and his followers trudged afer him, utterly downcast. Soon the news came that he too was dead. Now the troll knew that the rose bush had a ruthless power. But he loved it, and he would not think of cutting it down, and in fact, he was secretly proud of it. He watered it, picked off bugs, dusted it for powdery mildew, clipped off the blossoms as soon as they were a moment past their best. The rose bush grew even larger, its blooms even darker red, like clots of heart's blood. Meanwhile outside the forest bad things were happening. The old queen had died, and the prince soon after, and a wicked king from across the mountains attacked their kingdoms. He came down like a wolf, slaughtered many, and drove the rest of the people into slavery. Whatever he wanted, he took, and let the people suffer and die. Any who opposed him, he hanged, or threw into dungeons. Then he heard about the rose bush. In the grey dawn, he came through the forest, a single rider on a black horse. The troll went inside, and peeped through a window. But his heart boiled with glee. He would see the rose bush destroy this king. The wicked king stood before the bush for a long time. He did not wilt. He stood straight as a pine tree--straighter, in fact, as he watched. Finally, he turned, and shouted, "Now I know how evil I have been, how mistaken and confused." He turned and got on his horse, and went back to his kingdom. He released the prisoners in his dungeons, abolished all the taxes, and gave up his own lands to his people, and went down and worked among them. His kingdom bloomed. He became beloved. The troll was furious. The rose bush had betrayed him. The King was more powerful than before. He took an axe, and he hacked every stem and blossom to pieces, and raked the pieces up and burned them. He dug up the ground and planted narcissus and lobelia there. He put the rest of the garden to vegetables, stopped thinking about the world outside the forest. He lived a long time more, but he was never happy again; nor could he ever after bear to see a rose. 
The boys must have read this story because today was the second time they tore out one of our new rose bushes and threw it across the garden. After the first time we put up a fence with a gate but of course today I left the gate open. So it goes with life and rose bushes. 
 I have spent almost my whole life being with people. I grew up in a family of five. We had tons of kids our ages in our neighborhood, the baby boom generation. I left home and went into the Army. After the Army I went on an LDS Mission where I was never allowed to be alone. After my mission I went to college and lived off campus with a bunch of other guys. After two years I got married and then joined the Army again. When I got divorced I made sure I lived with a family who had children. I remarried very quickly. Now I spend the majority of my waking hours alone. I am actually afraid to be around people because of my disability. The two angles above make my life pleasant, full of companionship and most of all full of love. This was taken after they had been to the dog park and ran themselves ragged. I bet most of us old farts wish we could sleep like that.
Spring is finally here
As dingy white melts away.
Buds of new life appear
And in the wind bow to pray.
Kites silently rise in a grayish sky.
Children shed winter wraps to play.
Billowy forms pass bye,
Turn dark, ready to spray.
Writers express flowery prose
While some singer's pain
Tells us how love grows
Because spring is here "a"gain.
Today was a great day. We took the boys to a dog park and found out about another one close by that has a stream running through it. The boys really had fun and of course afterwards they both got a bath. Now they are laying out in the back yard in the sun getting completely try.  This isn't our boys because I didn't have my camera with me but this could be them.
This angel and entry is dedicated to my German angel who just called me on the phone to check on me like she does every day when she is at work. Just hearing her voice is like receiving a Christmas present over the airways.
Click to hear Rod Steward Sing "The Very Thought Of You"
 : Our garden is blooming, the sun was shining and my dog Buddy was fetching. So now I am going to take a nap.
Autumn Leaves It is now autumn and spring is just a memory. I remember the blossoms and sweet fragrance. A time of rebirth, yes a time of reawakening. A season of the year that refreshes the soul. Yet, autumn is a time to say goodbye to summer, The hot sweltering days of fun and frolic with The sent of perspiration and flowers in the air As young and old enjoy the rays of mother sun. Fall is in the air and nature's green changes As her varied giants prepare to shed foliage. Sweaters replace swimsuits, tops and shorts As each of summer's sexy tans are covered up. As I reflect about the tree that is my life I gaze back at its branches, twigs and leaves And the many treasured memories warm my heart Like the many glowing colors of autumn leaves. Now at fifty I find myself in the autumn of my life. My youth represented by pictures from my parents And the prime of my life just behind me with its Hard earned accomplishments and burdensome regrets. My autumn has become a warm and friendly season, A time for deep reflection, personal introspection. The fall of my existence is a time of preparation For the next and last period of my earthly journey. I am not afraid of the winter of my life to come As white dawns my crown like nature's fallen snow. My limbs will become weaker, each day more brittle Like nature's giants bare of their familiar green. Autumn is a season for harvesting life's bounty As I take time for the things that really matter. The decades to put away for a slower time a head, The time when I prepare to lay my burdens down. Autumn leaves tell me it is a time to prepare The future generation to learn to care for me As I so lovingly cared for them, so long ago, As I become more child like, in need of them. Autumn leaves covered by winter snow nurture The soil to receive the many seeds of spring. My autumn is for sharing myself with others To plant my memory in their hearts forever. by I. E. Allen
I have been having great success with teaching Salty the process of learning words. We started teaching him something in a Foreign Language, namely "Duck". He can say QUACK, QUACK. I am now trying to use possitve reinforcement to get him ready to learn something new. 
 FRIENDS During a man's brief sojourn in life Many things from his toil and strife He is oft pleased to build or create From what mere chance may initiate. Not anything contrived but free, Yet something truly meant to be, Is spun on the spindle of eternal design As separate lives touch and intertwine. For him now becomes a renewing source This ever changing, free intercourse Of feelings, hopes and aspirations, This sharing of joys and aggravations. Life's events with their eternal ends May separate two long honored friends. But both without question would defend The right to ever remember their friend. I wrote this poems shortly before I turned forty when I was in graduate school. I had just recently lost my mentor. Yesterday when I had a small crisis which resulted in a flooded backyard and water running into our neigbors yard, other neighbors came to the rescue and helped us solve the immediate problem. They also gave us some good advise on how to remedy the overall problem. I decided to share this poem with you folks on honor of our helpful neighbors. Almidvale
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