There once was a family named Bleeker
All six of them lived in a sneaker
It was a giant size
And their home they did prize
But when it rained it was a leaker

When they bought it they got a good deal
But the problems they had were quite real
When the rain started in
“Let the mopping begin!”
Mrs. Bleeker would yell from the heel

The kids thought the house was real neat
Living there was a real feat
The roof had this big hole
Staying dry the main goal
They would never give up in defeat

In summer the sneaker got hot
Air conditioning they had not!
And you couldn’t go
Down into the toe
That room smelled bad as it got!

When the Bleekers grew up, moved away
The sneaker began to decay
It was torn down
And they built on that ground
A new high heeled pump that was gray!

Little Billy Johnson needed a pair of new shoes. Billy often needed them because his feet would sweat like a waterfall and not just in the summertime, although it WAS worse then. Billy’s Mom always supplied him with a large shaker topped bottle of talcum powder to absorb the wetness and hopefully prevent unpleasant orders emitting from those extremities of Billy’s anatomy.
Since he lived in a small town, Mr. Ned’s Shoe Store and Emporium was within walking distance of Billy’s home. Well, actually EVERYTHING was within walking distance in Corner’s Bluff.
So after a good shower and after slipping on clean white socks Billy talcum powdered the interior of his old pitiful looking shoes. A light dusting just wouldn’t do for these worn out Weejuns since Mr. Ned’s nose was going to be closer than any nose should be to Billy’s “Straight into the trash!” shoes. Billy removed the shaker top and poured a generous amount of neutralizing talc into each shoe. “That outta do it!”…Billy thought, after more than half of the container was poured rather equally into the left then the right shoe.
Billy put on his gray T shirt and his new black jeans and then stepped into his shoes for the last time. As Billy stepped into each of them, a small burst of powder pouffed up the outsides of each shoe and onto the cuff of his jeans leaving a ghostly white tracing that looked like a Strato-cumulus cloud, which Billy was studying about in fifth grade.
“COOL!” thought Billy and he left the house headed for the shoe store.
Billy wore shoes out so often that his parents had an account at Mr. Ned’s and as Billy walked down Main Street onlookers were pointing at him and chuckling to each other. When Billy looked down at his shoes he saw that the bottom of his pants were almost completely white and each step generated another cumulus display spurting from the sides of each shoe.
By the time he arrived at his destination a crowd had formed to watch his volcanic shoe displays and Billy quickly slipped into the sanctity of the shoe store!
“Ah…Hi there…Billy…” Mr. Ned tried his best not to laugh at Billy’s white and black jeans as Billy puffed his way to a seat.
“A new pair of Weejuns?” Mr. Ned was confirming the obvious rather than actually asking a question.
“Yes Sir…Cordovan!”
Mr. Ned removed the right shoe first and a puff of talc rose into the air, the proprietor turning his head away from the white storm.
Then as Mr. Ned held the shoe as far from his nose as his arm would reach, using only the very tips of his fingers, a cascade of worn talc poured out and formed a pointed pile on the carpeted floor.
The Emporium owner repeated the same procedure with the left shoe. Looking at the two equal piles of talc that had formed on the floor in front of Billy Mr. Ned said…”I’ll get to those later.” Then holding both shoes as delicately as possible Mr. Ned carried them to the wastebasket and dropped them straight down and in!
After fitting Billy with a brand new pair of Cordovan Weejuns Mr. Ned said “OK Billy…I think that does it!”
“Thanks Sir …and could you add one more thing to the bill?”
“What’s that Billy?”
“A new bottle of talc…we’re out!”

Of course I can’t remember when I was just an idea in the creative brain of my author. I’m fairly certain that I am far from the first book thought that was had, but I’m grateful for the creation and pursuit.
In fact, my first memory was when I was about fifty-five pages old and my protagonist had just been taken into custody by the police.
I had to keep reminding myself that I was FICTION and not to worry because there were probably hundreds of more pages to go to straighten everything out.
But I DO have story friends that didn’t have hundreds of pages and wound up bound along with others of their kind into a book of many short stories. But I digress.
I’m going to let you in on a secret here, I really wasn’t fond of my main character during those early pages but I’m just the book and have no control over the story that I am forced to tell.
I must also interject here. There are good authors and some not so good authors and we books can’t choose our creators but I am fortunate because I was lucky to have been given a good one.
When I was about ninety-seven pages long it seemed like ages before I turned the page onto ninety-eight. But I found out later that it is not uncommon to go through that as a young book and I went through those sort of stages many times until I was finished.
As I added pages I also added many literary characters and plots and subplots and I actually got quite confused myself as to who I actually was and where I was headed.

Just between us, I had a bit of wavering faith in my author many times but always was happy that at least I was not one of those SciFi books. They never seemed quite right to me even though there are a few near me on this bookshelf so I shouldn’t make too much of it here.
Things were going along smoothly until page two hundred and
Seven, Chapter ten.
My hero, main character, protagonist… died! My author
“Killed Him Off!” I was not ready for that, I must tell you.
Of course, I found out why my author did that and it made sense to me by the end.
And by the way “The End” is just the beginning for a book. I mean it is actually when you graduate and go out into the world to entertain the readers that will hold you and caress you and yes, also sometimes dog ear you or spill coffee on your pages or worst of all, make notes in your margins!

Which brings me to the modern challenge of E Books. Well, I don’t mean to sound aloof but does anyone really think that holding an electronic device is really preferable to a hardbound book with its tactile luxury and even library aroma?
The jury is still out on that I guess and I am a bit one sided on that thinking.
But the reason I asked you to listen to my story today, other than making my case for traditional printed and bound books is that I am so proud.
I am announcing today that have a new just born, ah first printing I should say…SEQUEL!
I’m saving a place on my bookshelf for it right next to me.
So in the meantime, keep reading and going to bookstores and library’s and enjoy real books and stories just like mine!

A hummingbird was humming around

Making his smooth humming sound

While the canary was singing

Dulcet tones his throat bringing

Neither aware that the other’s around

Then the hummingbird sat on a limb

And the canary looked over at him

“Pardon me Chum Aren’t you the guy that can hum?”

“Yes and you’re the bird that sings on a whim!”

The canary felt somewhat dumb

Admitting that he wished he could hum

“Well I have no choice

I’ve no singing voice…

Oh I wish that I could sing some!”

“I’ll teach you to hum if you teach me to sing”

“Yes think of the joy we could both bring!”

So they each gave some lessons

But ended confessin’

That neither had learned anything!

“I guess I must do and I guess you must too…

Be happy for the talent we’ve got”

“So I’ll sing in the Spring”…

“And I’ll hum everything”…

“Can we be someone else?

I guess not!”

“Pssst….ah….excuse me….yeah you…the reader….listen he just left but he’ll be back soon so I have to make this quick!”
“What….who am I?” “Oh yes excuse my manners….I’m one of his recurring characters…he puts me in some of his short stories…and I was even in a poem or two of his. But anyway, lately he’s been a bit disappointed with the response to his web sites. He CAN be a pain occasionally but all in all he’s been pretty good to me as an author. I mean he doesn’t make me look TOO stupid and I do get a few chuckles now and then. I must admit though OCCASIONALLY I DO wish that he were a better writer. I think I’d have more of a following, maybe even a fan club, although with him I gave up on that a LONG time ago.”
“W…A…I…T….!!!….whew…he almost caught me talking to you. Luckily he forgot something and left again. He wouldn’t like me going over his head directly to you the reader….he is definitely the only AUTHOR….in this household.”
“What I’m really asking is that if you could try to act as though he were a bit better at his writing craft then he is….believe me it would make life much easier for me and the rest of those characters of his.”
“Oh….here he comes again….thanks in advance for anything you can…….”
“Ah… what Russ ?…..No I was just… ah….thinking out loud!”

“Here Nosy….sniff!”
Judson was holding his brother’s, shall we say, “soiled” sweatshirt in front of his new bloodhound puppy’s nose.
Nosy sniffed and sniffed and then barked a very immature sounding bark that would eventually mature into a deep loud one.
Nosy perked up his ears and looked around, then put his amazing nose to the ground and in a crooked, twisting path, sniffed his way to the laundry room and the laundry basket!
Even though none of Judson’s brother’s clothing was actually IN the basket that was “sniffed out” by Nosy, the tracking was deemed a victory.
On subsequent sniffing and tracking tests, Nosy however, was less successful. While attempting to sniff out a previously hidden used sock, Nosy “found” an unhidden plate of dark meat turkey that Judson’s Mom had placed on the table for lunch. Nosy never did find the sock.
On another occasion, Nosy found an opened box of chocolate covered cherries instead of Judson’s Dad’s baseball cap and was a very sick bloodhound puppy all afternoon.
After a trip to the local Veterinarian and a testing of Nostrildamus’ olfactory glands (his “smeller”) it was theorized that possibly Nosy was not “all” bloodhound but “could” have a bit of Beagle on his family tree. Not a bad thing, but not bloodhound.
“He may develop a better sense of smell later as he matures, but I wouldn’t count on it!” the Doctor sighed after the exam and test.
Judson was a bit disappointed at the news but vowed to keep “training” Nosy’s scent tracking abilities.
As Nosy grew older and larger, his percentage of “finds” as Judson called them, grew to about 10%.
There were also some unscientific successes which, although Judson considered a “find” his parents did not for the simple reason that food was always involved.
But one morning, a bright sunny day in August, the doorbell rang and when Judson’s Mom opened the door, a policeman was standing there with a torn piece of cloth in his gloved hand.
“M’am, I’m Sargent Cole of the local police department and we are on the lookout for an alleged thief that apparently tore an article of clothing, looks like a piece of shirt, during a small robbery and we were told that you own a bloodhound. Is that true?”
“Ah…why yes we do but you see…”
“GREAT! Can we borrow your dog to possibly track the alleged criminal?”
Judson’s Mom looked at Judson and at Nosy who was wagging his entire body and they both looked so excited that she just replied “Okay!”
Well, to make a longer story shorter, Nosy tracked down the culprit hiding behind a holly bush over in the woods and the Police Department awarded Nosy a special ribbon for “Excellence In Police Work”.
After that, Nosy still wasn’t very successful tracking clothing objects from the family but, even though no one close to Nosy ever said anything to each other, they all felt that it was very lucky that among the stolen items that were taken by the sniffed out crook, was a large box of chocolate covered cherries!

“Look over there…by the bench.”
“Hey….yeah….isn’t that funny. I don’t think I ever saw one that hungry before.”
“Naw…me either.”
“Look at that one …prancing around like a Peacock or something.”
“Amazing. They are so busy eating I don’t think they care whether we’re watching them or not.”
“You must admit…it IS facinating.”
“Well…yeah I agree with that. Some of my friends think I’m batty watching them and all of their colorful idiosyncracies.”
“I especially like feeeding times. How they all scramble and get in lines and sometimes get pushy. The bigger ones always seem to elbow their way to the food.”
“Well…are we done here today?”
“Yeah…I think so. Want to go get something to eat ourselves?”
“Sure. Over on the corner there’s a great place to eat.”
“My FAVORITE place. They always have the deluxe mix with the nuts and berries. Let’s fly over there now.”

To the real, normal, everyday (boring) world, Mr.Jason Worthington seemed like a jolly mature and quite retired gentleman. Oh, he had eight wonderful Grandchildren who thought that he was silly on occasion but otherwise he was widely known as just…well, “Papa”.
But there was a well-guarded secret that “Papa” kept only to himself.
Under his various colored knit Polo shirts and an occasional Tommy Bahama flowered Hawaiian style shirt he always wore the body-hugging T-shirt with the Purple Shield and the large golden capital “G”.
For you see, unbeknownst to his family and friends and neighbors, Papa was secretly “The Amazing Grandpaman!”
Papa read the news every morning in the local newspaper app on his iPad, and he would keep a well-tuned ear as he walked his neighborhood for exercise each day, for any occurrence or injustice which he might perceive that he could either correct or at least improve by his stealthy actions.
He would of course upright fallen trash cans on collection day and pick up blowing trash along the street as he made his way through his community but he was always looking for the “Big Help” as he called it.
One gray morning in June he was walking his usual neighborhood route and suddenly saw something that made him instantly stop and dash behind the huge oak tree in front of the Chandler’s house.
A man was climbing out of the side window with a bulging sack. Papa knew that the Chandler’s were at their Daughter’s house in Ohio and so he naturally surmised that indeed…This was a job for GRANDPAMAN!
He crept behind the Chandler’s tall hedges and removed his “ELON” hooded sweatshirt (his youngest son graduated from that University) and put on his Golden mask and coiled up his rather mature body, ready to leap out and strike as the presumed burglar passed by.
And as the burglar was creeping past, Papa jumped out from behind the oak tree and tripped the perpetrator causing him to fall to the ground and drop his sack of stolen goods.
The burglar was so stunned that he stuttered “What…” and then tried to fight free of Papa’s firm grasp. But Papa also always carried a length of rope and an iPod with him on his walks and although the iPod isn’t effective at fighting crime, the rope is the perfect accessory to detain criminals…alleged criminals that is..and so Papa applied the rope using the knots he had learned in the Navy.
Papa called the police on his smartphone and after tying the culprit to the Oak tree, left his Purple and Gold calling card…”GRANDPAMAN” and then hid nearby until the police arrived and apprehended the thief and his bag of the  Chandler’s possessions.
His smile was very wide and satisfying the next morning as Papa read the local news describing a “foiled burglary” but the best part for him was that he was still the unidentified “GRANDPAMAN”

“What’s the matter Tee Dee?” asked the robin to the dove.
“Oh…I don’t know…I guess I’m just tired of being…a….dove.”
“Really? My I would think that it would be great. You’re so big and well… dominating at the feeder…other birds move out of the way for you.” replied the robin red-breast known locally as Robby.
“Wait….shhhhh….don’t….move….a….feather….”
There was a very long period of total silence and stillness between the two bird friends. Then finally….”Ah…I think he’s gone…all clear buddy.” TD breathed a sigh of relief.
“If there’s one problem with these feeders it’s that they can sometimes attract….HAWKS!” exclaimed Robin with a relieved sigh.
“Yeah…I never did figure out why some birds…well…you know….we shouldn’t be….FOOD….to other birds! Should we?” asked TD.
” I certainly wouldn’t think so!” agreed Robby.
Then a gold finch flew to the limb where TD and Robby were chatting and said, in his high pitched chirp…’Hey…what’s happenin’ guys?”
“Did you see that enormous red tailed hawk just then?” asked Robbie.
“Sure….but I’m too quick and smart for him. Any thistle seeds today guys?”
“How should I know….I don’t eat that stuff! It takes a lot more than thistle seeds to keep me goin’.” Declared TD.
“Yeah, gimme some sunflower seeds, dried cherries….you know…the “Supreme Wildbird Seed” that you find ONLY at the better feeding stations.”Yummed TD.
Just then a male Cardinal landed on the feeder perch.”What’s up?”
“Hey Red…how’s it goin’?” Asked Robby.
“Great…just wanna get some of those dried cherries that they serve here. Must be the color.” Red said as he pushed some grey seeds off the tray and gulped down some cherries.
The squirrels were chomping up the seeds that fell to the ground under the feeder then looking up at the birds waiting for more.
Then Robby said “Well…see y’all later. I’m going North North East eleven flaps over and get some of that suet they put out at the stone house. Then I might stop by the stream and get a drink….then…..” He was still chirping as he flew off.
“I wish that I was a robin. They fly so fast and have so many friends.” TD was restating his wishes to Red.
“Not me…I wanna be that red tailed Hawk! That’s power!” said Red looking up into the sky at the hawk circling effortlessly at a height of four hundred fifty feet and using his “Hawkeye” to look for movement way below in the weeds.
But the Hawk was thinking “…Those lucky birds down there. Get to go from one feeder to another and fill up without ever doing any real hunting. Wish I’d have been ANY one of them!”
But then Robby squawked “WORM!” and all the birds flew off the feeder straight down dive bombing the emerging worm who didn’t even look up to see them swooping at him.
Afterward, even though all the bird friends didn’t agree on what other species of bird they’d rather be, they all agreed that they were glad that they weren’t a worm!

A fire engine has 4 wheels and 8 men

4 and 8 are 12

12 inches is a foot

A foot is a ruler

Queen Elizabeth is a ruler

Queen Elizabeth sailed the seven seas

The seas have fish the fish have fins

The Fins fought the Russians

The fire engine’s always rushin’

And THAT’S why the fire engine is RED!

Simple!