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Man, ya just gotta admire the passion some folks have for what they really believe in, don’cha?! After the Houston Texans’ spectacular Wild Card win this weekend, I caught this crazy fan on our local TV news after the game. Like I said, ya gotta admire the man’s passion, yes?
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City of Houston Fireworks Display
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Random thought…
It’s kinda ironic, don’cha think, that the words “safe” and “peaceful” are often used in conjunction with celebrations that involve explosives? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!
Still, the sentiment is a valid one from Yours Truly to Thee. Y’all be careful, have fun, and let’s see just what the new year brings us, shall we?
And it wouldn’t be the Middle Zone without a big ol’ tip o’ the hat to ya!
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Photo credit: “Fireworks_Houston”, by Bob Rosenberg
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Very old joke:
Two ants are running across the top of a tissue box, and one of them asks the other, “Hey, why are we running so fast?”
The other one points down and says in exasperation, “Can’t you read? It says right here: ‘Tear Across Dotted Line’”
Consider… the Ant
(Oh sure; it’s a strange thought for a beautiful Christmas morning. But believe it or not, I’m going somewhere with this line of thought. Bear with me just a bit, if you would.)
Wouldn’t it be interesting to be able to really understand ants? Just think; you could discover first-hand how they work together, how they live, how they get from place to place. You’d finally know why ants always seem to walk single-file, how they can carry 10 times their own weight, and most importantly, how exactly can they find their way into just about anything! Just how do they do those crazy ant things they do so very well?
But wait a minute. How could you really understand an ant, anyway? I mean, how would you communicate with them – or even get their attention? And how would they know you wanted to talk? By what means would a human being really understand something so small, so… insignificant.
See, the problem is, not only are you unimaginably bigger than they are, but you don’t have much in common with them. Their lives are so much different from yours; I mean, it’s pretty much impossible to grasp.
How Could You Understand An Ant?
So what’s the best way for you to really understand ants? Well… there is one way I can think of: you could become an ant yourself!
Now, I’m not talking about just shrinking down to the size and shape of an ant. See, without changing who or what you are, your essence, if you will… well, that wouldn’t do at all. Not only would you miss out on a genuine ant’s point-of-view, but they’d know you weren’t really an ant – even if you had the outward appearance of one.
No, I mean actually becoming one; to somehow live life as an ant. You have to be able to experience exactly what the ant is going through firsthand, for only then could you hope to get a true ant’s perspective on things. Only then could you understand them. Only then could you communicate with them.
And only then could they truly understand and communicate with you.
Consider… God
A lot of people don’t really understand Christmas. I guess that comes as no surprise, considering how much glitz and hoopla fills the air for months ahead of the actual day. But all that, well, stuff, really does is make it easy to miss the real Christmas. C’mon, you know what I mean: the actual human birth of Jesus Christ.
That’s the thing folks have a hard time with. I mean, the very idea that God would send His own son, Jesus, to be born as a man, live as a man, and die as a man… well, it just doesn’t seem to make any sense.
But in fact, there was simply no other way for God to get our attention. There was no other way for us to know that God himself really wanted to talk to us; to have a relationship with us.
And there was no other way for Him to tell us – and even more importantly, for us to truly understand – that He loved us.
Today is Christmas Day; the day we Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, all over the world, and across virtually all cultures.
Isn’t it amazing? To think that even today, and for many people, that was just a seemingly insignificant event that happened long ago. But in truth, the implications of that day somehow transcend time and space, and can still touch us as powerfully today – if we’ll just allow it to.
If you’re interested in a relationship with the God of the Universe, then there’s where it starts – at the manger in Bethlehem.
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From the Editor: This post is a reprise of my Christmas Day 2007 post. It was just too good not to repeat.
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Hurry, hurry, hurry!
Yeah, I know. With only a week to go before Christmas 2011, that was probably a slightly mean thing to say, right? But hey, I’m bad that way.
Still, I’m wondering if more than a few of you are gettin’ a mite, um, “wound up” as we wind up these last few days before Christmas.
I mean, when you’re getting’ ready for the holidays, there’s no shortage of, well, stuff to do, right? (Especially if you have kids and/or a big family.) Things like desperately searching high and low for those last-minute presents, cookin’ the turkeys, hams, and pies (particularly the pies!); decoratin’ the house, the tree and the dog; all that house cleaning… yeah, I’m sure the list could go on for quite a while.
Hey, I’ll be the first to admit it can be downright easy to sorta forget the reason why all this hustle and bustle exists in the first place, y’know? No, it’s not because of an artificial advertising push by manufacturers of the latest electronic gizmos, or a conspiracy to sell more greeting cards, or even (if you’re a kid) just an excuse to skip school for a few weeks. Nope (sound of buzzer) it’s none of the above.
The thing is, when you get right down to it the facts are pretty plain, my friends; there is only ONE reason there’s a Christmas at all, and it’s this: Jesus really IS the reason for this season. In the midst of all the things you may or may not have to do, it pays to remember that one simple detail. Just sayin’.
So…
I’d like to contribute my two cents’ worth of help to y’all for the rest of this week. Oh, it’s not much; just a little something to sorta calm the waters, so to speak. It comes in the form of a truly beautiful Christmas song called “Still, Still, Still”.
Now, unlike most Christmas songs that celebrate the birth of Jesus, this particular song is actually about the night before He is born. It brings to mind the comparative silence of the world just before the grand announcement made by the angels when Jesus actually was born.
Take a moment, if you will, to stop (please don’t try this when you’re, y’know, driving!) and imagine a quiet, peaceful winter night outside of ancient Jerusalem. The hills are mostly silent while practically everyone in the world, save the shepherds, are asleep. In the heavens, a single star becomes brighter, and brighter, and even brighter still. Then hear the words (for the full effect, scroll up and click on the video play button, then scroll back down and read these words as they’re sung):
Still, still, still,
One can hear the falling snow.
For all is hushed,
The world is sleeping,
Holy Star its vigil keeping.
Still, still, still,
One can hear the falling snow.
Sleep, sleep, sleep,
‘Tis the eve of our Savior’s birth.
The night is peaceful all around you,
Close your eyes,
Let sleep surround you.
Sleep, sleep, sleep,
‘Tis the eve of our Savior’s birth.
Dream, dream, dream,
Of the joyous day to come.
While guardian angels without number,
Watch you as you sweetly slumber.
Dream, dream, dream,
Of the joyous day to come.
Wonderful, isn’t it? Hearing that song, I can actually sense a feeling of peace, stillness, and rest overtaking me. That, my friends, is my prayer and wish for you this week.
Prepare yourself, world; Jesus is coming!
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Video: Still, Still, Still, by Mannheim Steamroller
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Hey, it’s easy to have fun when you have a lot of, y’know, things to have fun with. I mean, who wouldn’t enjoy having lots of really cool stuff such as fancy clothes, a nice car, or a genuine pair of rocket boots? I mean, c’mon!
The thing is, the opposite can be just as true. You can truly have a lot of fun with very little. Hey, just ask the average little kid who has less fun with the toy than the box it came in. It’s mainly a matter of attitude.
Yeah, I’m always thinkin’ (sound of grinding gears) along these lines at this time of year, and it happens ‘cause of the Main Event. See, around these here parts, and more specifically our house, the Main Event is the annual Setting Up The Christmas Tree (sound of cheering).
The Main Event
Now, in a normal year, our tree makes its customary appearance like clockwork on the day after Thanksgiving. Although last year, in a rather daring and unprecedented move, we set it up the weekend before, thanks to a combination of Thanksgiving-day family get-togethers. (Mrs. MZM decorated the bare tree with a few pumpkins and some colorful leaves, just so it wouldn’t feel neglected and lonely. She’s such a sweetheart.)
Unfortunately, this year we got off to a kinda slow start – but I think we’ll leave that tale for another day. Suffice it to say, for the first time in quite a while, our tree didn’t get put up until the weekend AFTER Thanksgiving. (Oh the humanity! It was like… uh, like… darkness settled upon the land, and voices of young children cried softly in the night… Or something.)
Anyhoo, over the years we’ve amassed quite a collection of decoratin’ stuff, thanks to having traveled so much. We’ve got, let’s see, your typical spherical ornaments in various sizes and colors, some fairly old ornaments from Mrs. MZM’s childhood, as well as a veritable plethora of assorted little figures of angels, stars, etc. There are also things that fall into the “greenery” category (although most of them aren’t actually green but gold, silver or whatever). Finally (and these are my favorites), we have about a zillion glass icicles of various and sundry designs.
As I place each of the aforementioned items on the tree (I’m the designated tree trimmer in our household; Mrs. MZM does the rest of the house), I can’t help but reminisce about some of my own past Christmases, and the trees my family had back then. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s amazing how the decorations have changed over time.
An Old-Fashioned Christmas
OK, back to my initial point.
One year – I guess I was about 8 or 9 years old – my family decided that we would have an “old-fashioned Christmas” and cover our tree with nothing but hand-made decorations that year. Looking back, I realize it was a way for the family to economize, but issues like that were “above my pay grade”, if you get my meanin’. ‘Course, my sister and I didn’t notice that little detail; we were ecstatic because it meant we pretty much got to make everything ourselves! Definitely an “Oooh, shiney!” moment.
So – what’s the one essential ingredient to making homemade old-fashioned decorations? Why, popcorn, of course! Needless to say, this was gonna be a cinch. We immediately made, oh, about a barrel of popcorn (you have to make allowances for, er, attrition, if you follow me) and gathered all the necessary materials: brightly colored wrapping paper, karo syrup, and lots and lots of string.
Luckily, making popcorn decorations is really easy. With the paper you make cone-shaped baskets for holding loose popcorn. And, popcorn balls are easy to make with Karo syrup, don’cha know. The most fun, though was making endless strings of popcorn for garlands. Put ‘em all together and voila! you have an old-fashioned Christmas tree! Yeehaw!
Imagine, if you will, a veritable tornado of excited activity (accompanied by appropriate Christmas music, of course) surrounding a Christmas tree, and you’ll have a pretty good image of our decorating effort that afternoon. Within hours, it was finished!
I’ll tell ya; I’ve never forgotten the fun we had that Christmas. Imagine – nothing fancy, no expensive (or even cheap) ornaments, just popcorn, paper and string. What a great lesson for us as children – that we could have that much fun with so little. I’ve never forgotten it.
So what about you? Care to share a similar time in your Christmas past?
By all means, you’re welcome to pop it in the comment box below. Don’t worry; I’ll leave the light on for ya!
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By the way, the story doesn’t quite end there.
Once the excitement finally died down and the (inevitable) mess cleaned up, what was left of the day proceeded as usual. Around 5:30 or so, Dad got home from work; Mom (bless her heart) had dinner ready by six. Naturally, conversation during most of mealtime was about the fun we had making the decorations and trimming the tree.
Suddenly, we heard a soft, sorta swish sound coming from the living room. It stopped conversation dead, it was so unexpected. My sister was closest to the door to the living room, so she sneaked up to the door and peeked around the corner.
Did the Christmas tree fall over? Was Santa early? Or maybe it was a burglar, breaking in to steal those incredibly wonderful decorations we’d worked so hard on. I’m tellin’ ya, I was ready to jump up and defend them to the death!
Surprisingly, though, as soon as she got her head around the corner she started laughing. So, no burglar. At least, not exactly.
Apparently, we had completely forgotten about the cat.
Yep; in our absence, the cat (Napoleon Solo – named after the then-popular TV show, The Man From Uncle. Hey, what can I say?) had discovered all those delectable decorations and had climbed into the tree (knocking a few things off in the process) to partake of the feast thereof.
Who knew cats liked popcorn?
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Photo credit: Popcorn Strings, by flavouredechoes
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For a lot of folks, the Christmas Season begins right after Thanksgiving. That’s the way it is around our house, anyway. Yep, even the trees are gettin’ in on the act! Take a look at this leaf fallen from a Bradford Pear tree at my workplace. Pretty fine, eh?
So, what do y’all do to get ready for the Christmas Season? And more importantly, how do you celebrate it?
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Ran across an interesting question on Twitter a few weeks ago: Writers, have you ever faced harsh criticism?
I must admit that question strikes a chord with me. Oh, not necessarily from something that happened here at Middle Zone Musings or anything. I’m happy to report that, since I started writing here at the Zone, there have only been a couple of instances when someone decided to, er, let me have it.
What was it about, you ask? Well, suffice it to say, said criticism had absolutely nothing to do with my ability to write, if you get my meanin’. Thankfully, things have pretty much always been fairly even-keeled around here. I suppose, in a way, it’s a welcome vindication of my goal that the Zone appeal to as many folks as possible.
Anyhoo, getting’ back to the subject…
Lookin’ a mite further back, though, I remember all those English teachers I faced from grade school on up through college. But I suppose we all wrestled with them as we grew up. Par for the course, right? So, on the whole, I’d say I’ve done OK.
Ah, but what about undeserved criticism vis a vis your writing ability? Now that’s a critter of a different hue, wouldn’t ya say? I remember this one, um, professor (imagine the word forced out through clenched teeth – but don’t worry; I’m over it now) from my first year in college…
Firm Foundation
Now ya gotta understand, y’all; I started reading at an early age and loved it. Back when I was a kid (that’s human, not goat), while everyone else was outside playing in the sandbox, you’d more than likely find me over in a quiet corner somewhere reading a book.
Even back then science fiction was my favorite (and still is, for that matter). Not that one type of reading matter is better than any other type, mind you, but I’ve always believed reading sci-fi stories is what helped jump start a broad technical vocabulary, not to mention help point me towards my current career in engineering. (At least that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.)
Well, once I grasped the fundamentals of writing (somewhere along about High School) I always got good grades on writing assignments. Plus, along the way I discovered writing was sorta fun – especially when I was allowed to let loose my imagination, y’know?
Suffice it to say, then, that I was fairly confident in my ability to string words together in a way that not only managed to say what I wanted to them to say, but I could say it in a way that would satisfy pretty much anyone. Until, as I said, I started college.
Rude Awakening
My first-year encounter with college was quite an adjustment, I’ll tell ya! Not only was it my first time living away from home, but it wasn’t long before I ran smack dab into a particularly hard truth about college life. The fact is, the word school took on a whole new meaning for me. See, up until then, going to school wasn’t really a choice, y’know? I mean, I had to go whether I liked it or not.
I quickly discovered, however, that now I was surrounded by folks who had actually chosen to be there. (Imagine that!) And I’m not exaggerating in the least when I say that put a whole ‘nuther hump on the camel, if you get my meanin’.
Even the teachers (oops, professors) were different. Although most of them genuinely seemed to like what they were doing, there were a few who sorta, er, stood out from the herd – both good and bad. And I’ll tell ya; nobody was worse than… Dr. Dead! (flash of lighting, crack of thunder, sound of terrified scream)
Dr. Dead
Now, at first blush you may be thinkin’ to yerself, Hey, that’s a pretty harsh moniker to give a college professor! Where’s the respect, Bubba? But hear me out, my friends; hear me out as I relate to you what happened on that fateful first day in English 101.
Here’s the scene: It’s your typical college classroom, complete with room-spanning blackboard at the front (yes, we used blackboards back then – and please, no snide “age” comments from the peanut gallery, thank you very much) along with a wooden teacher’s desk that had obviously seen better days. About 25 of us were seated in metal and/or wooden student’s desks, back packs at our feet, freshly-scrubbed faces eager and ready for our first exposure to, y’know, what we laughingly refer to as “higher eddicashun” (that’s “education” for you upper-crust types).
Anyway, once we all got situated, an old man tottered in and headed for the desk at the front. (Yes, he really “tottered”. Seriously.) Upon reaching the desk, he turned around, sat down on the edge and crossed his legs like a talk show host. Then he crossed his arms as well, all the while giving us the once-over with his steely gaze. (For you “body language” gurus: what would that posture tell you?) Then:
“Good morning; my name is (name redacted to protect, er, me),” he began in his thin, reedy voice. “This is English 101, and for those of you who may have heard this is a tough class… well, they are quite correct.”
He continued in this vein for a few minutes, and I could see the other students’ eyes reflecting the same sense of impending doom I was beginning to feel. After a while, he began to talk about his “style”, and that’s when it started getting a mite, um, surreal.
“Now some of you may consider yourselves to be good, or even excellent at your use of the English language.” He paused to survey the room, making sure he had all our attention, then – well, that’s when he lowered the ol’ boom on us. “I want you to understand this fact: I will be the sole judge of your ability to write. It doesn’t matter what you think; my opinion is the only one that matters here. I am sixty-four and one-half years old, and only six months from retirement, so we’re going to do this class my way, and my way only!”
There was more, but I’m tellin’ ya, at this point it was so quiet a dropped pin woulda sounded like a 30-car pileup; I don’t think any of us even dared breathe for a few moments. I mean, what the heck was this? It was after that first class when I overheard a couple of other students use the name, “Dr. Dead”. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for that little gem to stick.
He Lived Up To His Name
I’ll tell ya, when he told us his way was the only way, he wasn’t kidding! Our first paper was due the very next class (and for those of you who don’t know, English 101 is pretty much ALL writing “papers”) and I knew it was going to either make or break me as far as this class was concerned. Although I admit my confidence was a mite shaken, at that point I wasn’t too worried. I mean, I had already proven I was pretty good at it, right? (He said, nervously.)
Well, I turned my paper in on time (of course). When we met next, I was running a bit late, so by the time I arrived Dr. Dead was already handing out our graded papers. As he delivered each one I tried to see if there were any clues as to the results.
Yup, sure enough. It was kinda like watchin’ wallpaper fade (albeit a mite faster). Each face reflected the same sequence of reactions. First, there was a widening of the eyes in surprise (when they saw their grade), followed by a silent snort of disgust (or its equivalent) as they immediately compared it with their neighbor’s grades. Finally, there was a rolling of the eyes as they realized EVERYONE was as shocked as they were.
I was therefore not too surprised that my own grade was, er, less than stellar; I mean, I’d already seen the movie, if you follow me. Even so, I couldn’t help myself; as soon as I got mine, well, my eyes widened, I snorted – ah, you get the picture, right?
But it wasn’t that the grade starin’ me in the face was, to put it mildly, less that what I expected. I mean, that was bad enough. No, it was the fact that, right up there at the top of the page, there was a big, fat “F”! And in red ink, no less!
What the heck was this!?! I mean, I put my heart and soul into that paper – just so he would know I was better than the average writer, y’know? And this was my reward!? To say I was shocked is something of an understatement.
From Bad To Worse
Well, the class continued along those lines for pretty much the rest of the semester. And on every single paper, no matter what I did, I got almost the same results. (Although I did manage to pull out a “D” on one. I partied for a week.)
To say I was frustrated would be a major insult to the word “frustrated”, I’m tellin’ ya! I had conferences with the man several times, and each time he merely repeated his initial statement: his way or nothing. As the semester ground on, I even met with the Dean of the English Department to complain. Unsurprisingly, I got no help there.
I finally ended up dropping the class in hopes I could retake it with a different professor the next semester. And, although I passed it that second time, suffice it to say that by then my love of writing had pretty much been snuffed out like Smokey the Bear stomping out an unattended campfire in the woods.
I’ll tell ya, folks; I knew when I was beaten. As I look back on it now, I’m sure this little episode went a long way towards squelching my secret boyhood dream to eventually become a successful, rich and famous (not to mention loved by fans everywhere) sci-fi author. Sad, but true. (Not to lessen my own personal responsibility for makin’ the choice, mind you.) But to tell you the truth, I never wrote anything for fun again – until I took up blogging back in 2006.
A Hard Lesson
Well I’m not ashamed to admit I learned a hard lesson from this, y’all, and sad to say, it don’t necessarily paint ol’ yours truly in the best of lights, if you get my meanin’. My only defense, as pitiful as it may be, is that I was younger (and presumably more, well, let’s tell it like it was: stupid) than I am now.
The hard fact is, I’m the one who allowed that professor to dictate how I felt about my own writing – and about myself. In fact, I’ll go ever farther and say this: whether or not I was a good writer was irrelevant to the fact that I let someone else tell me how to feel about myself!
Friends, listen to an old cowboy and learn somethin’, won’t ya? Don’t do that!
As I’ve discovered the hard way, how we feel about ourselves is the one thing we’re pretty much in control of in this life, y’know? This incident, and others like it, taught me how easy it is to take someone else’s self-esteem down a notch or two.
And it doesn’t stop there. No, this sort of thing can have long-term consequences as well. It took quite a few years before I was again willing to risk having someone else read anything I wrote – in my case, 34 years. Yeesh, what a waste! But not to worry, I think I’ve finally gotten over it.
In fact, nowadays it’s gotten to where it’s kinda hard to shut me up. But then, that’s a dog of a different spot, wouldn’t ya say?
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Photo credit: F, by duncan
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