A Book We Should All Have On Our Shelves

Perils of the World: Survey of World History And The Classic Struggles of Mankind Hardcover

Author: A. Brum Fulmer

    About the Author

Brum Fulmer was born in Lawsonville, Georgia, in 1982. He entered Dekalb Technical College at age 13 and graduated with a B.A. at age 15. He received his master's at 18 From Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College, and was appointed proctor of the college. He Continued his education at the University of Georgia earning a degree in soil sciences.  He continued there, finishing with a PhD in Agricultural Taxonomy.  He became Professor of Taxonomy at age 36. An expert in Audio Book Production, Reading And Technique, he was appointed to Audible.com's Board of Directors in 2042. He wrote much literature, of which his Perils remains the most famous. When he died in 2083, Prof. Gaute Brown Jr. held a magnificent state funeral for him and had him buried on North Campus. Brown took great pains to make sure the writings and library of Brum Fulmer were preserved.

Product Details

• Paperback: 960 pages
• Publisher: Master Books; imprint (March 1, 2097)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 9780890515105
• ISBN-13: 978-0890515105
• ASIN: 0890515107
• Product Dimensions: 1.9 x 8.3 x 10.7 inches
• Shipping Weight: 4.6 pounds
• Average Customer Review:
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #157,215 in Books
• #97 in Books > History > Ancient 

Editorial Reviews

Review

A most remarkable and outstanding piece of literature. A must-have for any lover of knowledge and history, which would include the perils that have challenged man down through the ages. -- Roger Howerton, Acquisitions Editor, New Leaf Press and Master Books, October 21, 2003 --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Reporter and Acclaimed Reviewer Of Books, Ole' Mr. Fulmer.  In a private interview with Mr. Fulmer yesterday, we learned that he has traveled the world, observing the lives and lifestyles of many cultures. He has served in undercover missions across the globe to study mankind and analyze the workings of the human mind. Though it is only one of the many hats he wears, Mr. Fulmer continues to give insight, not only on Books but on his own observations of Life In General at A Closer Look.
Please schedule A Conversation of Thought with Mr. C.E. Fulmer for a richer outlook on life and books.
to schedule, please call 770.787.4039

 ~ //\\//\\//\\//\\ ~

The e-mail above is one I received a few days ago, with the note:

…."Here's a book we should all have on our shelves…"

The boys are always floating down The Amazon on their raft in search of some sort of treasures or other. Chris, especially goes frequently to the Amazon and receives all manner of mysterious looking brown packages that he says he picked up along his adventures.
He must have been rafting a few days ago, for I was part of a group who received this e-mail concerning a book he'd found on The Amazon.

   Mama had to stay home from church yesterday,  because she was sick.  She was lying on the couch as all of us came in from from Sunday morning service. A round of "Hey Mama, feeling better? Get some sleep? Do you have the fevers? " was said several times as various kids walked in the door.
"Yes, some better. Thanks, darlin.  No, no fever right now, just tired. Yes, I've slept lots, thank goodness."
"Hey Hun, you feelin' better?" Daddy asked as he came in the door.
"Yes, dear, some.  How was church?"
"Well, they didn't stone me so it must have been fair." said Daddy as he put down his books.
"What'd'ya preach on?"
"Bible and the pulpit," he said, pulling loose the fashionable noose around his neck and unbuttoning the top of his collar.  He said that in his silly voice and his eyes flashed a sparkle as we fired back in smiling groans, "Oh daaaddddyy…."
The general distress of the kitchen was what to make and someone hollered from that direction, "What are we supposed to be fixin' for lunch??"
 Mama's Sunday dinners are like none other, complete with every good thing; but since she was not well, it fell to the hands of the kids and Daddy to scare up a meal. Anne suggested cabbage heads for all of us to share. Daddy was more in mind of wings, or soup and sandwiches.
In the end it was a hodge podge of grilled cheese, mine and Dawn's first batch of caramel popcorn, soup, raw cabbage, nachos, cereal and collard leaves from the garden.  As we set about constructing this  meal some how the matter of Abe and books came into the general ruckus of mismatched conversation.
One snippet that rose above the rest of the clatter began the following exchange:
"Didn't you know there was a man named A. Brum Fulmer who wrote a book called " Perils of the World?" said Chris, peering over the shoulders of girls who were fixing lunch and reaching between them to the platters of food to take some.  A general exclamation of "WHAT?" followed, but especially by Mama, who said,
 "I think that's just crazy that someone with that same name would write a book called 'Perils of The World'. "
{As a helpful side note, Abrum is responsible for much of our stranger vocabulary, and over the past year, the word "Perilous" has come to play a considerable part in our speech.}

"Mama, you read that e-mail about the book I recommended?" asked Chris.
"Ah, no, hun. Well, I skimmed over it."
"You should read it again, carefully," said Chris, taking a chip.  Daddy took four slices of bread and cut  two slabs of cheese to put between each pair for his grilled cheese sandwich and mine and said,
"Well, you know, there was a Chris Fullmer in Swan Valley, Idaho, but he spelled his name with two L's. "
Mama had pulled her computer to the arm of the couch and was absorbed in the e-mail. Soon she was smiling and then she was laughing and after a fair amount of laughing with no explanation, several pairs of curious feet pattered over to the couch and hovered around the screen. We were laughing too after reading it. I especially like that A. Brum lived until he was One hundred and One. I thought that was very fitting and generous of the author to include.
"Chris, did you make this up?" asked Mama, smiling.
"Me, make it up?" Chris was tilting his head back and grinning mischievously as he popped an olive in his mouth.
"Oh, Christopher, you sly thing. You DID make it up! It looks just like an amazon article though!"
The boys should know, if anyone does, what a book description and review on Amazon looks like; they've ordered enough of them to be experts on the matter.

The idea of some mysterious A.Brum Fulmer and the Reporter who supplied the information on him, was enough to set my imagination spinning, so I drug the boys outside with the sweetest of requests to humor me.  They did - those excellent chums. Champs of a sport they are. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon to be outside and I will say that it was a rather fun project. All the photos were taken outside with no flash - all natural light. Dawn was my undercover reporter/assistant who helped me with the reflector.
I was pleased with the results.  Not only was it enjoyable to experiment with channeling the natural light and testing its powers with the aid of the reflector, but also getting to spend time with two fellows that I think are pretty down-right good-looking.
Wish Jeremy hadn't had to go back.  He would have made the perfect addition to our party.
Also, Milly's birthday is coming up in just a few days, and as there was no reason not to, I included a couple of the upcoming birthday girl.

^Dawn and Brum and  the Trusty reflector.  Oh what a difference in the world they make! 

^  gotta love a man with a pair of boots  ^

^it was much too soft in the garden to take photos with shoes on^

^we've made good use of daddy's old hat. it's seen many years of wear.^

 ^this is what I see and hear coming into a room. don't ask me. I have no idea, it's just milly and dawn being milly and dawnish.

i tried not to cry and so did she. but when i wrapped her up in a hug neither of us could help the tears that came down our cheeks.  it takes a lot of strength to leave the safest place a girl knows and the people that you love to walk back into the world. here we have a quiet place away from the current that constantly pulls downward and the wind that beats without relenting against heart and spirit and mind.

yesterday was especially sad because A.G was sick and tired already and seeing her have to leave and go back to books and late nights and early mornings without sleep and stress and being alone was a hard thing to take. 

"man, change and separation stinks, a.g." i'd told her. 

"i know, ray. but it helps us grow and we become better people by it. it hurts and is sad, but why have people done it throughout all history?…because even though we love our lives we can't stay stagnant. change brings growth and we need that."

Jay's left. Anne's left. I guess they've both taken a little of our hearts with them too.  Still, I remember what Mama says.
"Every day is an adventure, and little moments are worth celebrating. Take time to stop and smell the roses and when you feel sad, think and plan and pray and do for someone else besides yourself.  It's the best aid for the blues, and you'll find yourself happier and more cheery in no time."

elevensies

We had two of them, to be exact.  Friday morning was spent shaking rugs, vacuuming, washing clothes, dishes and bathtubs, sweeping, and dusting until near eleven, at which time we abandoned all and rushed to the kitchen for tea pots, biscuits, whipped cream, coffee, and jams. At eleven we played the shire theme, Dawn read a passage from Tolkein's Fellowship of The Ring and Mama stopped her work, and Natalie came so we talked about Georgia islands, wild beasts and babies. {the latter being an inevitable necessity being in the world of midwives.}
   But then the other crew came and we lamented to them that they'd missed elevensies, so it was suggested that we just have it again at the next hour of eleven, which we did.  We stood by the kitchen clock and counted down, and when it was eleven sharp, we rang a bell and shouted and commenced promptly. Again, we had coffee, whole cream, shire music and reading from J.R.R., but this time it was read by Matt (for which Mama especially made a point to come hear, as we all like to hear him read aloud, especially from Jeeves and Wooster, but really anything). Also, it was Baby Beauchamp's first Elevenies and Androph tried to feed her coffee and pie, but couldn't quite figure how to get it to her, so he patted her instead and we all wished her a most hearty happy first celebration of Elevensies. Mrs. Sherri had brought a peanut butter pie that day, so we saved it and had it that night (oh my…it was DIVINE).  And that day was divine and so was the whole weekend. So what more can be said?

first elevensies 

second elevensies.

goodnight.

what a good woman won't' do…not much.

"You're gonna do what Mama?" I asked, face squinched.
"Well, honey, it's not often I get to do something for Chris that he really needs or wants.  I'll make a party out of it."
So there we were this morning at 3.00, Mama clanging pans, cooking meat and whipping biscuits.  By 4.00 the kitchen was fairly bustling. We had coffee brewing, all the lamps on and Daddy frying thick bacon slabs.  We were slicing and buttering biscuits and Mama was slapping flour on Daddy's face. When Chris got there at 4.30 or 5.00 he took the sacrificial biscuit and tried it for us, then had two or three more because Mama scrambled eggs and made gravy and there was this season's jam of course, and a strong brew of coffee.
At Delta, there's a policy that if you're late, you bring breakfast one day for the guys on your crew.  Chris has taken lots of breakfasts, but this one was going to put all the rest to shame.  He's day shift, which means getting up at 3.30 am… and for Chris that's not easy, but he was here sharp and bright eyed, poking us and squeezing, kissing Mama, peering at the pots and exclaiming,
"Boy! Smells Good! Think I could smell it from the driveway. Law, law!!!"
"You called Sam, Chris? I want him to get one. You tell him I'm thinking especially of him while I'm making all this." Mama has made food for the guys before, delivered some of their babies, helped out with some life problems they've taken to her, prayed for them, etc. etc.
"Yes'm. I was telling the guys the other day about this and Roger - well, you gotta know Roger. You just can't argue with him, but - "
"He the Japanese guy that gave Dawn the necklace?" Anne shuffled past, fresh from bed, straight to the coffee pot, arm outstretched limply.
"Yeah. He's the one. Well, I told him about Mama making the biscuits and - "
"Honey, stir that right there - Melody, you have those eggs beaten?…Oh! don't open the oven, biscuits rising, Chris, grab that handle."

"Whad'ya say he said, Chris?" Daddy, with black coffee, feet crossed under the table.

"Well, he's all about healthy foods and he sees me eatin' healthy all the time so he starts sayin' 'Ahh…I bet she'll make those whole wheat biscuits….turn out flat!' So I didn't argue with him. Ya just can't."

"That why the number went from 21 to 20?" asked Mama. 

"Reckon so."

"Poor Roger," I say.  "Will Lance be there?"

"Yep, he'll be there."

"I wonder if he'll be wearing Auburn colors." And I laughed to myself because the first time I saw Lance was outside Chris' window, and all I remember was thinking "My…now that's one dedicated Auburn fan." He wore Auburn everything, down to flip flops and tricked Dawn into blindly saying that innocent little line to her soccer coach {an equally dedicated Alabama fan}  'WAR EAGLE'.  He told her just which way to say it, of course.  The intonation, and stress of words. So next time she saw her coach - whom she revered something heavy - she obediently blurted out, "WAR EAGLE, Coach!!!"  Dawn has never forgotten Lance. Nor forgiven him and she is now an unbendable Alabama fan.

 By six we were rolling the ice chest full of biscuits down the walkway to Chris' car, loading it with meats and jellies and notes for him to remember certain things throughout the day, plates, spoons and bags, and then it was Chris rolling out the driveway, in the dark, us waving and dew falling so thick it was almost rain. But it wasn't. We could see the stars bright and clear.

 mischievous mama.

handsome feller.

My eyes were blurry and squinted and I hadn't coordinated my walk yet. It was still the morning shuffle, but I went in the living room at 8.40 after sleeping again and saw Mama chatting with Daddy, Daddy with his boots on and coffee in his hand, hair combed.
  "Mom…you didn't go back to bed?"
"Well, hun," she said airily, "I tried, but every time I did the phone rang or I got a text or something. You'll have to see the text though," and she pulled out her phone.  It was from Chris and said,
"A smashing success," with a photo of empty containers, pots and jars.  Mama wrote back,
"Does it mean all gone?"
"Yep. And all the guys say to thank you."
Mama turned to us and said, "I just thought you'd like to see the fruit of your labors."
"Nothing," Mel and I replied.  She laughed.
"Yes, Nothing!  You've got empty containers and that's it.  Hate to say all that work was in vain, but there you go!"
"Isn't that the perpetual reward of women's labors?  Empty pots?" as I observed that continuous cycle.  "But reckon that's a good thing."

Full bellies make happy men and both are essential to life, as we know full well.

summer grass and thoughts...

     Are our minds not incredible things?  We live with them for decades and become accustomed to the unruffled method of thinking.  We take it for granted that we've settled into the State of Being in that thought place, which we'll be forever. But then a passage in a book, an unexpected conversation, a scene of particularly blended, light, texture, pattern and we're spirited away, as it were, to tunnels of thought we never knew existed. Nor would we have ever thought to ask if they existed as the natures of these thought tunnels are so wholly unimaginable.  And so then, from those mind caverns which we find ourselves in, we concoct experiments, we imagine theories, and connect potential dots to puzzlements of life in general.  Could there be a whole part of our minds that is simply bursting with brilliance and new thoughts??? How many times have we dreamed of beautiful compositions - music we've never heard, places we've never seen and poems we've never read, yet when we wake up it's fresh, almost vivid and just beyond our grasp? …  How masterfully crafted, how intricately designed!  We live in them and are them, and yet, we learn from them, in a way, discovering and exploring their unknown wilderness.

   Today was grass cutting and I do believe cutting grass is not only therapeutic but inspirational. I made two important discoveries today, namely:

* the combination of a hint of sweet grass, crushed {aged} pine cones, a pinch of summer dust and a little dab of lawnmower engine scent, would make an excellent cologne.
* i can pressure wash the dirt from my nails much more easily, quickly and comfortably than I can attempt to remove all such matter with jabby metal points.

 Oh goodness!!! the preacher was right when he said "Vaniy and vexation of spirit"!…That's all this world is! But thanks be to God our Father for His unspeakable gift and that He's begotten us unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.

 Heaven is going to be so good. 

So. good.

if i were a rabbit i would run here.

...daddy's tomatoes…

please note the dirt line. one of the dirtiest mowings yet, for some reason.

thoughts upon my bed before drifting into oblivion.

i hope this isn't terribly wicked of me, but i sometimes put on a recorded sermon to go to sleep by.  i have sometimes thought of telling this to some of my favorites as an encouraging bit of information, but even as the words would be about to slip away from my mouth into the air, i'd realize how rude that could sound.  of course, in the way i mean it, it is actually a complement. the fact that i enjoy going to sleep by their preaching as opposed to a favorite artist would - i'd think - be nice to hear. perhaps this is one of those things about being a pk. odd enough to create strange habits, normal enough to cope somewhat with society.  we have cleaned since 10.00 this morning, but here, at 10.30 tonight i put my foot down and have taken a shower and am going to bed. cleaning is good. gives satisfaction, especially when doing it because people you love will be reaping the benefit of it...in just a few days, Lord willing, this house will be buzzing. if we don't all completely evaporate, that is.  this swelteringly hot days, broiling sun, sweltering heat...all i can say is, praise God for sweat and air conditioning.
   camp was wonderful, by the way. so much about camp has shaped my life - so many of the people and traditions and sermons and experiences. so thankful for that place. goodnight.

kathryn and kathryn.

sunday

Heart of Life 

is Good

I don't really have something specific to write tonight.  I'm just happy, mostly.  I think you would be too if you were here right now...there's not really any way not to be happy. Or at least content.
 Michael is here.  So my windows are open and he's playing to all of us girls in the room.  Dawn is wearing a straw hat, asking me if the weight on my renewed driver's license is the same as the first one.  'Is it better or worse, gabe?'
  Anne to Melody,
 'New Hampshire?'
 'Concord.'
But they insist on pronouncing 'Des Moines'  (derh-m'ohns) because it was settled 'by the Frinch.' ...At least the river was named after something French.  Merry is lying on the bed propping her feet on Dawn's back and reading some secret book.  Mama sticks her head in the door and says 'whoosh! y'all need the air on back here...Michael, I'll play your cd in my kitchen if you'll make one for me,'  and Anne keeps smiling at something.  Crickets and guitar playing.  It's just right.  And so is the world tonight at the Grey Submarine.  Disappointment is a part of life.  I guess pain is too.  But beauty is also a part that is only intensified through both of those once we can see it again.  Some how - in some good way - all that is bitter and hard and saddening will be beautiful one day.   Days like this remind me of that.