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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Since this is the first post of a brand new year, it’s only fitting to first reflect a bit on things just passed before we take a look towards the future, don’cha think? Tradition, you know.

So let’s start with a little, um, thing that happened just last week.

Lights! Action!

If you’re like many of us, you’ve recently celebrated the birth of Christ on December 25th. (I know it may come as a shocker to some, but He really IS the reason for the season, y’know. Just sayin’.) AND, at least here in the “Western” world, today marks the first day of a brand new year. (Yeah, I know the Asian world won’t celebrate New Year’s for a few more weeks. “Close enough”, I say.)

Anyhoo, I don’t know about you, but during the Christmas season some of the things Mrs. MZM and I look forward to the most are the Christmas music, the special Christmas events, and especially the Christmas Pageants, particularly at our local churches, large and small. I’m tellin’ ya; we’ve seen (and been a part of) some that are as good as or better than anything you’d find on Broadway. (Well, at least off-Broadway quality, anyway.)

In fact, we went to one of those “big production” pageants just before Christmas at a large church near us. It was quite a show, I’ll tell ya! The highlight was, during one musical number commemorating the arrival of the Wise Men (or, as I prefer to call ‘em, the “Wise Guys”), the three of them rode in on genuine, real live camels and an elephant! Yup – an elephant strolled right across the stage. Wow. (The engineer in me couldn’t help but wonder if they’d performed a weight distribution calculation on that wooden floor. No worries, though; nothing collapsed. But I digress.)

The elephant, of course, was the most impressive part of the entire pageant. He strolled majestically to the center of the stage like the king of all land creatures that he was, and then paused for his rider to disembark. As soon as that was accomplished, he performed for us a little, raising his trunk and one leg towards the audience as if to say, “hey lookit me!” I suppose it’s the elephant equivalent of a curtsey. The audience was very appreciative; it earned him a round of applause for a great job. Way to go, Bubba!

Gravity – “It’s the Law!”

Well, that’s when it happened.

After our friend the elephant little gave his little performance, his handler gave him his cue and he headed off towards the exit at stage right. Unfortunately, as he turned around it became obvious for all to see that his leg and trunk weren’t the, er, only things he’d raised, if you get my meanin’. Yep, that’s right – he had his tail raised too. And if you’ve ever been around animals of any kind, you know what that means, right? Yessir – when that tail goes up – something, er, else generally comes down. It’s like, gravity. And yep, that’s exactly what happened!

There came a collective “uh-oh” from the audience as, at right about the same moment we all realized just exactly what was about to happen. That poor elephant! Instead of applause for a job well done, this particular job instead earned a clearly audible gasp (and more than a few horrified screams) and a resounding “eww-yuk!” from everyone. I’m tellin’ ya; for once Mrs. MZM and I were thrilled – absolutely thrilled – to be at the back of the auditorium!

Y’know, it’s a cryin’ shame, too. All the work and time those folks put into that production – the writing, the music, the rehearsals, the costumes – it was a gargantuan effort, to be sure. But the sad fact is (at least for those of us who attended this one particular performance), ten years from now when we recall this pageant, this is what we’ll remember!

Probably Not What You Expected

So along about now you may be asking, “Uh, what the heck has that previous – and somewhat disgusting – story have to do with the New Year?” Well, that’s a doggone good question!

Here’s the thing.

Over the years I’ve jokingly said many times the phrase I plan to have emblazoned on my tombstone when I kick the ol’ bucket is, “Y’know, things didn’t quite work out like I’d planned!” (Actually, I’m only half-joking.)

Still, it never ceases to amaze me how differently things always seem to work out from what I, in my mind at least, think should be the “ideal”. You know what I mean, right? It’s been my experience that, no matter how well I’ve mapped out my future, there’s always something – or someone – that comes along and throws a monkey wrench in the works; stuff I simply can’t plan for.

Let’s see… I know there’s a technical term for it… wait, wait… it’s coming clearer… Ah yes! I think it’s called, uh, life.

Plan Accordingly

All I’m sayin’ is, hey, it’s a brand new year! It’s really all right to make your plans. After all, plans are good. Plans are necessary. Plans help keep things on track. In fact, it’s sorta like that image up there at the top of this post I titled “The Uncertain Future”. It’s a somewhat blurry photo of a corridor stretching out ahead. You can make out the walls, the floor, the line of light fixtures above, leading off into a possibly bright future. But at the same time – it ain’t all that clear, either.

Yeah, it’s sorta like that.

Hey, just remember this one thing: if you really want to be able to face the future in style, then Bubba, in all your planning, don’t forget to make allowances for life.

Yep; that’s the way to face the future, my friends. Be flexible when it comes to the unexpected. It’s the only way you’ll be able to roll with it and keep on keepin’ on, y’know? Just like that pageant. Did the unfortunate “elephant incident” stop the show? Not on your life! Folks just kept a careful eye on where they were steppin’ – and then kept right on walkin’.

Hey, I’ve known folks who seemed to know (or at least claimed to know) exactly where they were goin’ and what they’d be doin’ in the years ahead… and I gotta tell ya; folks like that irritate me to no end. Oh, it’s nothing personal, mind you. It’s just that after fifty-mumblemumble years, I’ve come to the sobering conclusion that there is absolutely nothing carved in stone about the future.

And there’s the lesson for the day year.

Happy New Year and a tip o’ the hat to ya!

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I’ve mentioned a few times the fact that Mrs. MZM and I have moved quite a few times since our marriage back in 1982. (Yep; we’re zeroing in on 29 years real soon now.) Yessir, for some of us in the engineering business, sometimes that’s just the way the ball bounces.

Admittedly, there’s definitely a few pros and cons to that kind of life, I’ll tell ya. On the one hand, we’ve both had an opportunity to see various and sundry parts of the world – on someone else’s dime. (It’s always nicer when other folks pay for our adventures. Just sayin’.) On the other hand, such a life presents a bucketful or two of challenges, many examples of which I’ve shared with you right here at the Zone.

However, since celebrating Christmas is a big tradition for both of us, we’ve always been diligent that, no matter where we were, or what the circumstances, we always made sure there was a Christmas tree. Admittedly, some years we had to get a little creative (you’ll see what I mean).

So just for fun, this year I’ll share with you our progression of Christmas Trees, along with where we happened to be at the time. (Click on the photos for a bigger view of each one.)

29 Years of Christmas Trees

1981, Houston, Texas – The soon-to-be Mrs. MZM and I celebrated our first Christmas together at her house near Hobby Airport. She used to live in a cute little place located directly underneath the runway approach path to Hobby Airport – landing aircraft were so low you could actually see folks’ faces in the windows! We still remember this tree as the one we bought and never had to pay for. Don’t know why, but the charge never showed up on the ol’ credit card bill.

1982, Houston, Texas – Being newlyweds, naturally the future looked rosy and bright! (Silly us – who knew the future actually held quite a bit of challenge and adventure. But that’s, as they say, yet another harmonica tune.) So of course we bought our first home, fully expecting to be there awhile. The house had a big picture window in the front which was perfect for displaying a Christmas tree that year.

1983, Houston, Texas – To our surprise, things didn’t quite work out like we expected (a statement which is currently the front runner for my tombstone’s epitaph.) Earlier in the year we sold our previous house in anticipation of the purchase of our first new home. So let’s see; what happened? Well, first the builder ran off with our down payment. Then Mrs. MZM took early retirement – and then surprise! the bottom dropped out of the job market and my job went bye-bye. Oh, and we also lost Mrs. MZM’s father on our first Anniversary. Finally, after a quick scramble we ended up in a tiny little rented house instead of our dream home. At least the living room had space for a tree. Wow, talk about a banner year! Yeesh!

1984, Houston, Texas – Sadly, the job hunt went on a bit longer than anticipated and money got a mite short. Fortunately a kind friend offered us the use of their unoccupied condo for essentially free, so we moved yet again. Don’t be fooled by the number of packages – most of ‘em are empty boxes, wrapped for fun. It was a wonderful Christmas just the same; there is no substitute for the love of a wonderful spouse, I’ll tell ya!

1985, Greenville, South Carolina – The job market finally picked up again – everywhere, it seemed, but Houston! So we packed our things for our first interstate move. That first Christmas in South Carolina was spent in this apartment as we searched for a better, long-term place. (Why temporary? Well, the floor seemed to be, er, dissolving under us. Yep, dissolving. We had to move to yet another temporary place before we finally found our “permanent” spot.) Temporary though it was, a tree we cut ourselves at a local tree farm, along with the cheery fireplace (not to mention a nicely-lighted model sailboat) helped set the tone for a very nice first experience away from the ol’ homestead.

1986, Atlanta, Georgia – You’d think one interstate move would be enough, but noooo! Within a few months, I was sent on a long-term field assignment to yet another state. On the plus side, though, the apartment we found had a perfect spot for a Christmas tree: a glassed-in sunroom. It was even more spectacular when it began to snow, giving us our first White Christmas! (By the way, if you look closely, you can see our cat, Cookie, lurking beneath the center of the tree.)

1987, Greenville, South Carolina – After that previous job assignment, we moved back in Greenville again. This time we decided to buy a house and ended up in a cute little place in the NE quadrant of town. Once again, we had a beautiful room just begging for a Christmas tree to give it life! Winter turned out to be unexpectedly heavy that year (we once woke up to a record 14” overnight snowfall!) that kept us stuck inside for over a week.

1988, Houston, Texas – Things started looking up in Houston’s job market again, and we sorta missed bein’ back home again, so we moved back as soon as we could, this time to a condominium near the Galleria area. Over the following years we actually lived in this complex several different times. However, this was the first, a nice little place that turned out to be home for only a short time.

1989, Austin, Texas – I changed employers again, moving to Austin, Texas, for a new assignment. We initially lived in a “corporate” apartment on the north side of town. A few weeks before Christmas, though, it got so cold the water pipes burst, ruining the entire building! We moved to an Embassy Suites Hotel for about four months. Not too shabby, I’ll tell ya! Since we really didn’t have room for a tree of our own, we adopted this one in the lobby of the hotel.

1990, Richmond, Virginia – After the last project ended, we got transferred to Richmond for about a year on another project. This apartment was a bit bare, since we tended to travel “light”, but the place still had a comfortable spot for our Christmas tree. Of all the places we’ve lived, Richmond is the richest in history. We had a great time checking out all the historical sites nearby.

1991, Robinson, Illinois – Moving to Robinson was quite an adjustment. After all, it’s little more than a wide spot in the road in the middle of eastern Illinois’ corn fields (at least it was back then). We rented this house, which was nice enough, but it sure did make a lot of odd noises at night! When the stairs started creakin’ and crackin’, we could almost see the ghost of the lady who used to live there, checkin’ us out. Talk about spooky! Where’s the Ghostbusters when you need ‘em?

1992, Houston, Texas – Back home once again, we bought a condo at the complex we were at in 1988 (see above). Turned out this place became our “home base” for the next 15 years as we continued to travel all over creation in the following years. It was nice to have a place to “come home to”, though. One of my favorite features: the glassed-in sunroom always made a perfect setting for the Christmas tree.

1993, Houston, Texas – This particular year I happened to be on assignment in Charlotte, North Carolina at Christmas. Unfortunately, Mrs. MZM got the flu really bad so she had to come home. Needless to say, she didn’t feel like putting up a tree! However, just before Christmas her sister and nephew came over and surprised her with a tree anyway! It was a remarkably kind gesture that helped just a tiny bit to overcome the loneliness we both felt from being so far away from each other.

1994, Richmond, Virginia – I took a position in Richmond and, while we waited for our house to be built, ended up staying in a Days Inn Hotel for several months – hence another hotel tree this year. I’ll tell ya, hotel living ain’t for the faint of heart! There was that time the entire hotel was filled with adolescent teenage girls – and us – during a state softball championship. The fire alarm must have “accidentally” gone off at least a dozen times. At midnight. Every night. Argh!

1995, Houston, Texas – Unfortunately, the previous job didn’t pan out as, er, long-lasting as I’d hoped. (Sheesh; industry downturns sure do put a kink in our well-laid plans, don’t they?) So instead of living in Richmond we moved back to our condo in Houston. For a part of the year I worked in Venezuela, but I managed to get back home by the time Christmas rolled around. Instead of presents under the tree this year, we put some of our collection of nativity scenes we’d picked up in our travels.

1996, Houston, Texas – We spent most of this year moving back and forth across the country due to my job. My project had us first working in Sherman, Texas, then clean across the country to Salem, Oregon, and then back to Sherman again. Upon the return to Sherman, I stayed there working while Mrs. MZM came home. However, we celebrated Christmas at home together.

1997, Perrysburg, Ohio – Moved to Ohio to work on a project in a small town just outside of Toledo (home of the world-famous baseball team, the Mud Hens!) Those of you who are my age or older may remember these old aluminum trees. We found this one at a garage sale, complete with the original box and motorized spinning color-gel wheel, and just had to have it.

1998, Houston, Texas – For about a year I took a break from the engineering business and worked as a consultant. This meant I essentially worked from home most of the time, only traveling on occasion – and that only for a week or two at a time. However, on one of my field trips to Florida during the hurricane season I got to play chicken with Hurricane Fred, or Bill, or something when it took a bead on Panama City where I happened to be staying. Ah well, at least we got to enjoy a relaxing Christmas together at home again.

1999, Taipei, Taiwan – Well, this still holds the record for the “most distant from home” Christmas I’ve ever spent – 14 hours time difference! Now, even though they don’t exactly celebrate Christmas in China, they still recognize the season for the tourists (not to mention the shopping!) The tree pictured here is from the lobby of the Grand Hotel in Taipei. And believe me, they don’t call it Grand for nothin’ – it’s quite a place!

2000, Portland, Oregon – Anticipating a permanent move to the Left Coast, we started with another one of those temporary apartments. Since it was only temporary, we decided to cut costs and were quite successful furnishing the entire with garage sale items (except the bed and the couch). I’ll tell ya, if you just take the time to look, you can find some incredible stuff this way! Although our Christmas tree was a bit smaller than we were used to, overall it made for a fine homey place. Ironically, Portland is where we experienced our first earthquake! Yep, I can still hear Mrs. MZM’s loving words to me immediately afterwards. I believe here exact words were: “GET ME OUTTA HERE!”

2001, Houston, Texas – Can’t believe it happened again! We expected the job in Portland to last a long time, but due to a yet another severe industry slowdown I ended up getting laid off 6 months later. Sigh. This was the beginning of a long stretch of odd jobs until the engineering business picked up again. Still, being back in Houston meant we could get together with friends and family.

2002, Houston, Texas – Still out of work, things were getting a little glum, and unfortunately, our Christmas tree sorta reflected that. Mrs. MZM didn’t even want to put up a tree, but I insisted on at least some lights on the ficus tree in the corner. It wasn’t exactly our dream Christmas, but we did spend some quality time counting our blessings rather than moping about what might have been.

2003, Houston, Texas – Although the engineering business was still out for the count, I spent most of these years (yes, I said years) doing assorted odd jobs that came along. At least it kept me outta trouble! (Er, more or less.) This year we decided not to put up the “whole” tree, but instead mounted the top two-thirds on a large trunk for a different look.

2004, Houston, Texas – Yet another Christmas outside of the engineering business, and things were beginning to look a little sparse. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but a great job was only a few months away. We never gave up hope, though, and kept our eyes on God, who graciously supplied all our needs. Celebrating His birth every year gave us the chance to thank Him personally.

2005, Houston, Texas – Although we spent this year’s Christmas back home in Houston, we spent most of the year on the Caribbean island of Aruba. Talk about a great work assignment; this one ranks up there with the best of ‘em! We had looked forward to spending Christmas on the island, but the assignment finished up too soon for that. Too bad. We decided to use the antique metal tree again, just for fun.

2006, Tomball, Texas – We decided to buy a house again after returning from Aruba, moving this time to a smaller town just north of Houston. Here you can see the expanse of arched windows that made what we thought was a perfect setting for the tree. This was also the last year for this particular tree; all that moving and storage pretty much destroyed it.

2007, Tomball, Texas – Behold our brand new Christmas tree – er, in it’s new, improved location. (Turns out, in front of the window wasn’t the most optimum spot after all.) The good news this year was that work was steady and the engineering business’ prospects were amazingly rosy. That’s always good for some level of comfort; especially with my history.

2008, Tomball, Texas – Er, did I say “rosy” outlook? Sheesh, in an amazingly dramatic turn of events, the entire economy seemed to tank this year! Luckily, I spent most of the year on a project that kept us going, but the future was yet again getting a mite uncertain. Still, God blessed us again this year with good health, steady employment, and gracious love. What more can one ask for? (Besides pie, of course. One can always use more pie.)

2009, Tomball, Texas – Alas, earlier this year my previous job folded. Luckily, I fell into a new one almost immediately, so that was a real blessing indeed! Sadly though, it only lasted about six months or so before the engineering business (and pretty much every other business) dried up and flew south for the Winter. Still, God kept us warm and dry and basking in His love this Christmas.

2010, Tomball, Texas – Halleluiah, a new job came along and this time it truly looks like a long-term project. ‘Course, it has to actually last that long, but prospects look good for the time being. Assuming it continues to its conclusion, eventually we’ll be leaving the Houston area and traveling the world as the project further develops into its Engineering and Construction phases. Nevertheless, for the time being we’re still snug as a bug in a rug right here in Tomball, Texas!

2011, and Beyond

Lots of folks, when they hear about the crazy, whacked-out kind of life Mrs. MZM and I have, er, enjoyed over the years, tell us they’d never have survived such insane turns of events. Well, I can understand the sentiment, for sure. The fact is, most folks like to think they’ve got things figured out, don’t they? What’s more; they’ve even got the plans to prove it, too. Um, yeah.

It sorta reminds me of a rather profound statement a fellah named George Campbell said once: “We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”

I’ll tell ya folks; if there’s any one lesson we’ve learned (and keep on learnin’) over the years, it’s that only God knows what the future will actually bring. In truth, the best we can do is keep our eyes on Him, and follow where He leads.

Now, life ain’t always been a bed o’ roses, and that’s a fact. Some years have truly been ‘way harder to cope with than others. But after everything is said and done (and as you know, more is usually said than done), hey, we’re still kickin’, we’re still together, we still love each other with all our hearts – and of course we’re still mightily blessed by the Creator of the Universe.

Hey, that’s good enough for me!

Merry Christmas, y’all, and a big ol’ tip o’ the hat to ya!

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[(sound of radio hum and persistent static) We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this Special Announcement. Please do not attempt to adjust your screens. The problem is not with your monitor.]

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A Big Announcement

First – the BIG Announcement: Today’s entry marks post number – wait for it – 1,000 here at the Middle Zone! (sound of vast crowd cheering enthusiastically; roll out the proverbial red carpet; cue the band; cue the fireworks)

I mean, who woulda thunk it? Not me, that’s for sure!

To be honest (something we always strive for here at the Zone), I really had no lifelong aspirations to become a world-famous millionaire blogger/writer, I’ll tell ya. That’s right: zip, zero, nada. In fact, ‘way back in June of ’06 (practically pre-historic days in Internet time) when I posted my first profound thoughts measly chicken-scratchings, the ONLY reason I did it at all was simply to “try this weird, crazy bloggin’ thang out”, if you get my meanin’.

(Er, as to that “world-famous millionaire blogger/writer” bit… I think I can say with confidence that over the last 4.5193 years of blood, sweat and tears, working my fingers to the bone and the little ol’ gray cells into exhaustion, I’ve managed to achieve at least two out of those three descriptives. It should be obvious to all exactly which two have been accomplished.)

So how does one celebrate 1,000 posts, anyway? Why, by doing something special of course!

Now for me, “something special” usually involves, well, pie – preferably with a big ol’ scoop of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream right up there on top. However, today I decided to do something completely different (miraculously involving no calories whatsoever) and submit an entry for Joanna Patterson’s group writing project instead. All month she’s been running her “The Gift of Blogging Confidence” group writing project over at Confident Writing. Since I haven’t participated in a GWP in quite some time, I thought this would be a great opportunity to jump back into the fray.

[We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming. (sound of static fades away) And what the hey; why don’cha go have yourself a Slurpee?]

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Look, Ma; I’m A Writer!

Well, I’ll tell ya; blogging over the years has certainly been the source of some surprising turns of events. I’ve had the opportunity to meet some really fantastic folks, read great thoughts on practically anything you care to name (and let’s face it; “one or two” not-so-great thoughts, too), and gained exposure to some truly amazing, well, stuff. I mean, there’s practically no end to the things there are to learn “out there” these days, is there? You know.

As for yours truly, well, blogging has given me a remarkable measure of confidence I never knew I had. After all, when it comes to recording your own thoughts and sending them out to the world… well, it takes a certain level of chutzpah, don’cha think? Why, the very idea that someone else out there would conceivably care what I think – about anything – I mean, sheesh, who knew?

The thing is, writing is something I always thought I’d be good at, even back when I was a kid. It’s just that, up until a few years ago, I simply didn’t actually, y’know, do it on a regular basis. Howsomever, once I began writing more-or-less regular-like here at the Zone, well, the rest is, as they say, history.

But if there’s one gift blogging has given me – and believe me when I say it’s one I never saw comin’ – well, that would have to be (sound of drumroll and rimshot) poetry.

Look Ma; Now I’m a Poet, Too!

Yep, now I’m not only a writer – I’m a poet, too; a statement to which my mind can’t help but respond: Uh, now how heck did that happen? Truth be told, I can barely even relate to most poetry out there. So why on earth would I start writing any of my own, much less publishing it “out there” for anyone to see and (sound of terrified scream) critique?

Not to mention, as this photo illustrates, the sheer, unmitigated agony of the bane of existence of poets everywhere: “the search for the perfect word”. (With apologies to Joyce Kilmer. – Ed.)

So how did it happen, you ask? Well, in a word – confidence! Yep, it’s that confidence I picked up from practicing what I normally do. And after doing it long enough, I finally began to think outside the box and try something different.

Oh, don’t get me wrong – I very carefully make no claims to bein’ a good poet. But I honestly think I’m learnin’ a thing or two every time one falls out onto the screen. Hey, who knows; maybe my feet really do show it? *

Poetic Moments at the Middle Zone

So for your reading pleasure torture edification whatever, here are the links to all my (insert appropriate descriptive here) poetry posts that appear here in the Middle Zone. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know how you liked them. I’d truly like to know!

First of all, here are five very short poems (written in *ahem* free verse – which, let’s be honest, is just a fancified way of sayin’ “Hey, there ain’t no rhyme or reason to this stuff!”) for a writing project sponsored by the inimitable Liz Strauss wherin each entry is limited to exactly 25 words:

• Watched
• They Were Wrong!
• Horizons
• Somersault
• Clueless

Then, since it’s poetry after all, I decided to try my hand at, y’know, actually rhyming something. (Yes, I know all poetry doesn’t have to rhyme. Still have trouble thinking that way. Just sayin’.) Interestingly enough, it seems my own photos turned out to be my greatest resource when it comes to the ol’ Muse’s poetic ramblings. Thus, my photo of a pair of spiky sycamore tree seed pods inspired this poem about my childhood days:

• Spiky Balls

Oddly enough, my two latest poems were inspired by photos of the same subject: the morning dew:

• Morning Dew
• Fallen Starlight

So what’s next, you ask? The Great American Novel? A Nobel-Prize-worthy essay? The next volume of The Toilet Time Reader? Heck, who knows? My advice is (for you and for me), let’s make sure to remain open to the possibilities. Hey, you never know what surprising little gift might next come down the pike!

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[* By the way, on the remote chance you have no idea what that sentence refers to, it’s a little rhyme I learned years ago (and therefore assume most folks have heard in one form or another), to wit: “Hey, he’s a poet! He didn’t know it; but his feet show it – they’re Longfellows!” (sound of rimshot)]

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Last Monday, I posted a list of questions that seem to have no reasonable answers. (‘Course, if you’d be willin’ to settle for unreasonable answers – hey, we got plenty of those.)

Out of Place

The other day I drove by one of our neighborhood U.S. Post Offices and, well, if you’ll glance at the photo you’ll see what I saw. Yeah, I know; there’s nothing particularly special about the place with its somewhat uninspired architecture, concrete parking lot, and boring landscaping. But… something seemed to jump out at me as, I don’t know, a bit out of place.

A little later I drove by the same spot and took the time to really check out the scene again. Finally I spotted what was bothering me. That tiny white spot the big, black arrow is pointing at is a mailbox. Wait – what? Yep, there it is; embedded in that short, square brick pillar, located right outside the post office door.

Now I ask you: Why would a post office need an external mailbox? Seems like a somewhat superfluous addition, don’cha think? I suddenly had an urge to mail a letter to the branch’s Postmaster, just to see if a mail carrier had to bring it outside and put it in the box. If I can just find a stamp. And paper. And, uh, a pen. (Naah, just kidding. I still remember how to actually hand write a letter (although my penmanship was never all that great), and I even know where Mrs. MZM keeps the stamps.)

(Sound of Dull Thud)

Anyhoo, as I wrote this post, it suddenly hit me! (sound of dull thud) In fact, it’s so obvious, I’m almost embarrassed to confess this. It seems like, after all these years of tellin’ y’all there are lessons to be learned from life pretty much everywhere – well, I sorta forgot that little detail for a bit. Call it a decade moment of insanity.

So there I was, taking note of this odd little architectural detail, wondering just what the heck it was all about. So what did I do? Took this photo, hopped into my car, drove home and wrote this post, right?

Now I ask ya: What’s wrong with this picture. (No, not that picture up there; this whole cotton-pickin’ episode.) Yep; you guessed it in one! Why didn’t I just go up there and take a look at the thing and find out why it’s there? As you can see from the photo, there’s obviously a plaque of some kind on top of that structure. Probably explaining exactly why it’s there and what it means.

All it would have taken was just a tiny little bit of time – to actually, y’know, look.

So gettin’ back to imponderable questions… Now the imponderable question is this: How come I didn’t take the time to go find out for myself? I mean, I was already there!

I hate to admit it, but for that one I have no answer.

Assignment for the Day Life

Awright y’all; now’s the time to learn from my mistake.

Your assignment, should you decide to accept it, is to take 5 minutes sometime today, find a good comfy spot, and take the time to observe the world around you. And don’t just be at rest; I want you to really look. Pretend you’re a recording device capturing everything around you in full fidelity. Listen to the sounds, smell the smells. Experience those minutes as fully as you can.

Now, write down as much as you can remember about what you noticed. Be as detailed as you can. If you really want to get something out of this exercise, do this every day for a week, writing down everything you can possibly remember.

And most of all – should you, like I did, see something that raises a question in your mind, don’t just wonder about it (like I did) – take an extra minute and go over there and find out the answer!

I’m tellin’ ya; you may be surprised at what you’ll discover!

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[Note from the Proprietor: This post is an entry for this month's Middle Zone groupwrite project, What I Learned From Colorful Characters. It's open for entries until March 7, 2010 and you're invited to participate - just follow that cute little link and read all about it.]

Over the years, I’ve met my share of colorful characters; I bet you have, too. Despite that, I’m surprised to say can’t really pinpoint exactly what it is that earns someone the description of “colorful”.

I know, I know; chances are you’d agree with me there’s no shortage of folks who are different. But is different the same as colorful? Not necessarily; I’ve run across plenty of folks who are different – yet I no longer remember them.

Maybe the word unusual is a better qualifier. Well, maybe. Whatever the quality is that makes someone colorful in my mind, of all the folks I’ve ever met, ol’ Hollis has to be one of the ones with the mostest.

Just Call Me Bubba

Now, Hollis was what we down here in Texas call a Bubba (also known as a “good ol’ boy”): friendly, big-hearted and generally easy-going – and I’ll tell ya; he sure fit the bill!

Hollis was one of four of us back in college who roomed together during the semester I decided to live off campus (this was back in the early ’70′s). And if you think the name “Hollis” says volumes about him, well, you’d be right. I mean, this guy was a walkin’ stereotype!

His parents owned a “nice spread” (otherwise known as a ranch to us city slickers) in central Texas. Oh, it wasn’t as big as the King Ranch (which at 1,289 mi² is larger than the U.S. state of Rhode Island), but at least it was “comfortable”. (Maybe just the size of Long Island? Er, never mind.)

I always suspected his chosen course of study – range management – had more to do with his parents wishes than his own (I mean, would he have chosen it if they didn’t already own the ranch? Well, maybe.) But one thing I can say with complete confidence – it certainly suited him.

I can still picture as if it were yesterday, that first fateful day I asked Hollis just what in tarnation range management was. He adjusted his big ten-gallon hat, spread his feet apart to get a firm stance, and made fists of his big, ham-sized hands. Then he put ‘em on his hips, stared off at the distant horizon and boomed out, “All right you ranges out there! I want you to form a line for me! Hey – straighten up, you!” (You think I’m kidding? Hey, if you’re readin’ this, Hollis, back me up, won’t you?)

When he went out he wore that hat (seriously – a huge, somewhat worse-for-wear white one), and in more ways than one, reminded me a lot of Hoss Cartright from that old western, Bonanza. He drove a typical student’s car, an old land-yacht-sized rattletrap named, of all things, Maybelline (or maybe it was The Deathmobile; I forget).

Memorable in More Ways Than One

In fact, there were a lot of things about Hollis that were really pretty memorable. (I mean, besides the hat.) For instance…

Every other weekend he went home to visit the folks (and, of course, do what every other student did: get his laundry done). And every Sunday upon returning he’d go through the exact same ritual: walk in the door carrying two bags of groceries and gently set ‘em on the kitchen counter. Then open the cabinet doors over the sink, reach into one of the grocery bags and pull out the two cans of Spam his mom had thoughtfully packed. Put them up in the cabinet (along with the 123 other cans from previous trips home) and shut the door. Then and only then, he’d paste that goofy grin on his face, turn around and ask in all seriousness, “OK, guys, anybody for pizza?” (By the way, if you’re hungry, as far as I know those cans of spam are probably still there. They should be nicely, er, aged by now.)

Then there was the time I brought home a refurbished pay phone and hung it in the kitchen (this was back in the days when you had to buy your own phone from the then-still-a-monopoly phone company). We convinced Hollis he had to put a dime in it to make calls, and it was two weeks before he finally figured out we were kidding! (On the plus side, I did make $3.90 those two weeks. But I digress.)

Trust me; I could go on…

What I Learned From Hollis

Yep; ol’ Hollis was sure a colorful character. But one thing he taught me was that it was truly OK to be a colorful character. I mean sure, most of us know that’s true – and I know that now – but back then I was just a poor Freshman college kid with no idea who I truly was.

See,  all through grade school and high school, I saw other kids around me who were popular, witty, charming, and – dare I say it? – extremely cool. What’s worse, they all seemed to have a level of self-confidence I simply couldn’t match. No matter how I tried, I always ended up geeky, insecure, and just plain scared.

The problem was, I took that attitude with me to college, and unfortunately forsaw nothing that would change anything ahead, I’ll tell ya. And that’s when I met Hollis.

Hollis was… well, different. And not a bad different, he was… well, like a breath of fresh air (or maybe more like a smack in the face with a dead fish). He was loud, brash, a little crazy, and he had no problem bein’ someone who was smirked at by other folks – either behind his back or even to his face – he just flat-out didn’t care.

Yep; in ol’ Hollis, I saw someone who had something I’d always wanted: he was happy with who he was. And I had to admire that, y’know? It was quite the revelation, I’ll tell ya.

So, Did It ‘Take’?

By now you’re probably askin’ the question, Did the lesson ‘take’? Did I finally overcome my truckload of self-conscious mumblings and assert my rightful place in the universe? Did my fellow students point in awe at my overwhelming new-found Coolness as I walked by? Did women, from that moment onward, swoon whenever I entered the room?

Well… no. (In fact, I only know of one woman who ever swooned when I came into the room, and that was because I’d accidentally stepped on a skunk on my way in the door. But that, as they say, is a frog of a different hop.)

Actually, it took me a few further years to finally come to terms with who I was. Or at least, who I was beginning to become, anyway. To tell you the truth, I’m still on that particular journey, so there’s really no tellin’ how it’s gonna end up. One thing I can tell you – the trip’s been a blast so far, I’ll tell ya!

Anyhoo – I just want to send a big ol’ tip o’ the hat to my friend Hollis! Hey, thanks for bein’ you, Bubba, and I hope all those ranges finally lined up for ya!

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Photo credits, top left to bottom right:
1. Colorful Character, 2. Beggars on Stockton Ferry, 3. Colorful characters, 4. colorful characters, 5. It’s good to be the King!, 6. Colourful character, 7. Send in the Clown, 8. No Clowning Around., 9. Four colorful characters

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[Note from the Proprietor: This post is an entry for this month's Middle Zone groupwrite project, What I Learned From Colorful Characters. It's open for entries until March 7, 2010 and you're invited to participate - just follow that cute little link and read all about it.]

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I’m thinking of… love. Thinking about the how and the why of it. Wondering if I’ll ever understand the whole of it, even. Knowing that it’s not possible for my poor, finite mind to comprehend it. At least, not yet.

Oh, don’t get me wrong; I understand a little. I mean, I’ve experienced the amazing joy of love firsthand. And not just once, but many times, in many different ways. But over the years I’ve noticed a difference in the kinds of love there are. This simple little word doesn’t easily convey to us its rich tapestry of inherent meanings.

For instance, when I say I love… my steak – you know, the one I just cooked to juicy perfection on our backyard grill, with a nice baked potato on the side, done just right and topped with a little butter, bacon, and cheese – well, it’s pretty obvious the love I’m talking about is really just a very intense “like”.

There’s such a thing as love… but that’s not it.

When I say I love… my friends, it’s obvious I’m talking about that feeling of camraderie, of fellowship and friendship I get from the people I know who know me back in more than a casual way.

There’s such a thing as love… but that’s not it.

When I say I love… my own sibling, it’s about a familial relationship. Not that I don’t love that family member any less or any more, just because I had no choice in it, you know. It’s almost an obligation, albeit one I willingly agree to.

There’s such a thing as love… but that’s not it.

Back when I was still single, when I said I loved… the woman with whom I was building the beginnings of a significant relationship with, I was really talking about that feeling most of us recognize as “being in love”. You know what I’m talking about, right? Sweaty palms, hot flashes, brain freezes – all the silly, goofy things we find ourselves doing to first impress, and then win that other person.

There’s such a thing as love… and although I was getting closer… well, that wasn’t quite it.

But what about when I say I love… my wife? I think I’m finally getting close to what real love is. It’s not about getting, but about giving – the giving of my self – to her. To put her interests above my own. To want what she wants, to feel what she feels, to put her above myself in every way. (Not that I claim to be successful at it – but it’s a worthy goal, wouldn’t you say?)

There’s such a thing as love… I wondered and I searched, and finally, I think I know. How do I know? Because I went to the source of love. To the One Who created love in the first place. Because in reality, love is quite easily defined:

Love is patient.

Love is kind.

Love does not envy.

Love does not boast.

Love is not proud.

Love is not rude.

Love is not self-seeking.

Love is not easily angered.

Love keeps no record of wrongs

Love does not delight in evil.

Love rejoices with the truth.

Love always protects

Love always trusts.

Love always hopes.

Love always perseveres.

Love never fails.

In fact, God is love.

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