[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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“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

As most of you know, it is indeed possible to find treasure in the most unexpected places. Especially when you’re willing to take the time to really look.

One Man’s Trash

Quite a few years ago Mrs. MZM and I temporarily moved to Kalamazoo, Michigan so I could take an engineering job in a chemical plant for a few months. Since we knew we’d be there only a short time (maybe 6 months? who knew?), we decided to keep the apartment furnishings to a minimum. I mean, why spend money we’d never get back, y’know?

Anyway, after moving in, we drove around town, just sorta getting’ the lay of the land, so to speak. Suddenly Mrs. MZM pointed off to the right and said, “Pull up over there!”. I immediately executed a tire-screeching Bat-Turn safe, totally legal and non-life-threatening u-turn to the indicated spot.

Right in front of us was a large dumpster. I looked at her in disbelief and thought to myself, surely she couldn’t mean–?

But I was wrong.

Years ago I knew a guy who rode a trash collection truck to earn money for college. He used to regale us with tales of the many treasures he found every day – bowling balls, stacks of records (you remember vinyl LP records, don’t you?), perfectly good clothes of all sorts – you name it. I was always amazed at what folks will throw away, y’know?

Well, memories of that fellow came back to me now as I realized Mrs. MZM wanted me to take a look at something in that dumpster. Now, had I still been a kid, I’d have no problem, y’know? But hey, I’m an adult now! Adults don’t do this sort of thing! (Besides, it was probably filled with all manner of icky stuff, not to mention little creepy crawly critters, to boot!)

All this and more scampered briefly through my brain as I climbed out of the car and approached the rusty metal behemoth. It was one of those enclosed types with a partially opened sliding door in its side. That’s where Mrs. MZM pointed. “There’s a lamp shade right there close to that opening. Just reach in and grab it – let’s see what it looks like.”

Poised to make a quick getaway (just in case a rat, a snake, or y’know, a slime-covered tentacle reached for me), I tremulously latched onto the aforementioned shade and gave an admittedly hesitant little pull. It didn’t budge. I tried again, a little bit harder this time, and felt it give a bit. Finally I took a deep breath, threw caution to the winds, and grabbed it with both hands. Exerting a mighty heave, I stumbled backwards with my hard-won prize and was rewarded with – an entire lamp!

Another Man’s Treasure

And wow, what a treasure! Well, it’s not that it turned out to be genuine Waterford crystal or anything, but it certainly was pretty. I was astonished somebody would throw away a perfectly good and serviceable lamp like that. (And yes, it worked perfectly!)

As I returned to the car with my loot, Mrs. MZM couldn’t help the lightly smug “I told you so” expression, and rightly so. Our little treasure turned out to be far better than either of us had expected.

Funny how that saying can be so true, isn’t it: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Over the years, I’ve encountered countless instances just like this of how a piece of junk turned into something wonderful. In fact, we have a perfectly good antique clock on our shelf to prove it. Sometimes you have to clean things up a bit – but sometimes not.

To tell you the truth, the only difference between an object’s being trash or treasure is not necessarily in where you find it. Nope; it’s in how you look at it. So it sorta begs the question, doesn’t it?

What surprising little treasures have you been missing because you haven’t taken the time to really look?

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Sometimes the urge to say what’s on my mind can get me into big trouble.

– Likely epitaph for Robert Hruzek

(hopefully a long time from now!)

OK, for those of you who’ve spent any time at all here at the Zone, that statement above will come as no surprise whatsoever. The trouble, though, is that knowin’ that little datum doesn’t always prevent me from, well, saying stuff anyway.

See, the thing is, what with this brand spankin’ new year and all, I really racked the ol’ brain to come up with a post that would sorta capture the essence, the nub of the gist, the je ne se quois for 2010. (In case you don’t know, je ne se quois is French for “duh”.) And finally it hit me (sound of dull thud) – this year, it’s gonna be all about words.

Therefore, I’m declaring the year 2010 to be the Year of the Words. An attorney friend of mine keeps reminding me, “words are important” (a heckuva understatement if there ever was one), so this first post of the year is going to be all about, well, carefully considering everything you say.

And trust me; this is experience talkin’.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s Summer Camp

Never was the importance of thinking about your words more true than one time back in 1978, when I was a counselor at a children’s summer camp deep in the woods of East Texas, smack in the middle of Huntsville State Park.

The way this camp worked, see, is parents would drop off their kids each Sunday afternoon (about 125 or so boys and girls, aged 8-12), then pick ‘em up again the following Saturday morning. Then this process was repeated with a different set of families for seven weeks in a row.

So far as I know, we always had the same number of pickups as drop-offs, so I guess in the large scheme of things you would consider our efforts a success. Still, every week produced its own set of unusual “situations” that had to be dealt with, plus a few challenges that spanned the entire summer.

One of those “all summer long” challenges, for instance, centered around breakfast, of all things. See, every morning we trooped our campers into the dining hall for their morning supply of energy. With the full days we routinely planned for the kids, their energetic little bodies needed to be well loaded with fuel. And what a breakfast it was!

Every morning’s menu was different. One day it was a selection of cold cereals, milk (plain and chocolate), about a billion kinds of muffins, assorted juices, etc. Another day it was scrambled eggs, bacon and assorted toast (including my favorite: cinnamon raisin bread).

Best of all, the food was, like, amazingly good, too, and there was always plenty for all. No one ever left the breakfast table hungry, that’s for sure. I’ll tell ya; those sweet ladies who cooked for us every day really outdid themselves.

Except, that is, on Wednesdays. See, on Wednesdays we had (sound of terrified scream) oatmeal.

Wednesday’s Child is Full of Woe

Now, I just want to go on record as sayin’ I personally have nothing – nothing against a big ol’ steamin’ bowl of oatmeal! Especially when topped by a thick pat of rich butter, maybe a little brown sugar, and a handful of fresh blueberries. I’ll tell ya; that’s something that really hits the spot with little ol’ me!

The problem, as it turned out, was an incident that had happened several years before. See, the thing was… well, they sorta accidentally, um, burned the oatmeal. Oh, not so you could tell by lookin’ at it, mind you. But when tasted, you could tell it was definitely “off spec”, if you follow me.

I don’t know about you, friends, but if you’ve never had the, er, joy of slapping a spoonful of burned oatmeal onto your taste buds, well Bubba, you simply ain’t lived! It sorta brings to mind that horrible, acrid smell of popcorn that’s been overcooked and burned by a microwave oven. You know how that awful odor kinda lingers in the air… well, it ain’t something you’ll ever forget, that’s for sure.

Nothing Travels Faster Than a Rumor

The thing was, quite a few of these kids had attended camp year after year, with the inevitable result that word had gotten out about the infamous Day They Burned The Oatmeal. So by the time Wednesday rolled around, well, you can guess can’t ya? Yup; even though it had happened several years previously (and had never happened since) the very sight of a big ol’ bowl of oatmeal on the breakfast table was enough to cause every kid in the building to run screaming into the woods.

To be sure, we heroically tried everything to head it off at the pass, so to speak. The staff heaped our own bowls with gobs of oatmeal, loading ‘em up with as many tasty extras as we could find. We loudly proclaimed the virtues of the stuff. One guy tried lathering his with gummi bears, but alas, to no avail. We even tried contests and other incentives. Alas, it was all for naught. It seemed nothing could overcome the dire tales of disaster and woe already passed down to the younger children by The Grapevine.

I mean, it was bad enough the kids had blown this thing all out of whack. But the stories! By then they’d pretty much reached, well, epic proportions. “Whatever you do, don’t eat the oatmeal,” they’d say. “It’ll make you grow a third eye right in the middle of your forehead!” Or, “Don’t eat the oatmeal; you’ll never ever have children.” (That one was for the girls.) And then there was my personal favorite: “Don’t eat the oatmeal, it’ll turn you into a blood-sucking zombie!”

But even more serious, since there was always so much oatmeal left over, it caused the cooks to waste perfectly good food. (You’d think they would’ve taken the hint and prepared less – but I guess hope always springs eternal, y’know?) Leftover food was definitely not a good thing, though. As with any camp, money – and the wise use thereof – was always a primary issue.

Lightning Storms on the Brain

Finally, the Camp Director had had enough. Determined to resolve the situation once and for all, he called for a Council of War later that evening after all the kids had gone to bed and settled down for the night. We left our Assistants in charge of the various cabins and gathered in the dining hall with the Director and the cooks.

“OK, you all know the problem,” he began without preamble. “Let’s brainstorm some ideas on how to solve it.”

Within minutes, quite a few ideas had been proposed. The most popular was kinda obvious: serve something else. Unfortunately this simply wouldn’t do – for a couple of reasons. First of all, the food for the entire summer had already been purchased. There were no funds for an alternative breakfast; somehow they would just have to make do.

Another idea was disguise it with more toppings – more fruit; more sugar, M&M’s, snails, whatever. Unfortunately, that one wasn’t working too well. No amount of fruit could hide the fact that it was, y’know oatmeal, and too much sugar was, well, pretty unhealthy, to say the least. As for the M&M’s and snails… well, never mind.

After about 20 minutes, we managed to narrow it down to two possibilities: One was, call the kids’ homes and have their parents make the kids eat it. Unfortunately, there were too many parents to easily reach, and cell phones hadn’t yet been invented. So scratch that one as too impractical. Besides, we kinda wanted to handle this one internally, if you know what I mean.

The other idea was to find a way to stop those ridiculous stories. To which the following question then applies: Have you ever tried to stop a rumor?

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Yep; that’s about the size of it. Here we were, the best and brightest of the entire camp organization (at least, we liked to think so), and this was the best we could do. Pretty sad, I’ll tell ya. Nevertheless, we all decided there might be some merit in that last suggestion, so we concentrated on it for a while.

As I heard idea after idea (not to mention some pretty profound silences), that’s when it began to happen – the apparent gravity of the situation seemed to give rise within me to say something silly, just to lighten the mood. Now please understand, this was serious; it was a genuine problem that needed a genuine solution, no mistake about it. But I just couldn’t help it – inside I was doing my best to stifle the ingrown chuckle that was steadily sneaking up on me. There we were, wrestling with the ramifications of serving oatmeal for breakfast. I mean, fer cryin’ out loud!

But I knew; if I were to say the thing that was desperately trying to break out into the light of day, it would not only ruin what little headway we’d made, but it might possibly irritate the Director or, even worse, the cooks. And believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was get them mad at me!

Still, it kept on building up inside me, ready to burst out into the open like a grape in a microwave. I squirmed and squiggled, got up and then sat down again, tried to count to 100 backwards, but alas, nothing helped. Finally, as everyone else was in the midst of trying to figure out ways to keep those stupid stories from spreading around, and I couldn’t stand it anymore and the following fateful words escaped my lips:

“Well, you could always threaten to glue their mouths shut with the oatmeal!”

I’m tellin’ ya; you could probably have dropped a live hand grenade – without the pin – in our midst with less effect. There was at least a full minute of shocked silence while everyone sorta looked up, then down, then pretty much everywhere except at me. The Director had a stunned look on his face, then quickly turned to look at the cooks to see what their reaction would be.

I think everyone sorta “braced for impact” as we awaited the Head Cook’s no-doubt righteously indignant reaction. And I distinctly remember thinkin’ to myself, “Self, we’re a long way from civilization; I wonder if they’ll ever find my body?”

Great Moments in History

For a moment, all she could do was stare at me with wide-eyed incredulous disbelief. Inwardly, I cringed, waiting for the boom to be lowered upon my unprotected head. But then… a miracle!

She suddenly put her head back and began laughing so loud, and so hard, she very nearly fell off the stool! You’ve heard of folks laughing with their entire body, right? Well, she did that, and before long every one of us was rolling on the floor with gales of laughter I’d swear (if my Momma hadn’t taught me not to) you could’ve heard in Dallas!

It was one of those genuinely memorable moments, y’know? We all laughed, tears in our eyes, for about 15 minutes until finally the Director raised his hands for silence. “You know what?” he told us. “I was reading in my Bible this morning from Proverbs, and I saw something that definitely applies here.” He opened his Bible up to chapter 11, verse 14 and read this verse: “Where there is no counsel, the people fall; but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.”

“I want to thank you for coming tonight to help us resolve this unusual and strangely thorny challenge we’re facing. Although I’m not sure we’ve quite solved it yet, it gives me great comfort to know that with the multitude of Counselors we have here tonight,” – and here he looked straight at me, and with a big smile, no less – “well, it’s good to know you guys are on the case!”

The Proof is in the Pudding Oatmeal

To tell you the truth, although I can’t remember if we ever did solve that “thorny little problem”, I look back on that event with a great deal of nostalgia. Besides, for the rest of that summer we were stuck with the oatmeal anyway, so what the hey, right? The cooks continued to serve oatmeal every Wednesday and, at least as far as I know, nobody turned into a zombie or grew another eye or anything.

That was the last summer I spent as a Counselor (no, I wasn’t barred from returning, smarty pants; I just got too busy after that), so I don’t know if they still serve oatmeal on occasion. My guess? Probably not. Sometimes ya just gotta bow to the inevitable, y’know?

But as I look back on that memory, I still can’t believe I said what I did. I mean, c’mon! What if those fine ladies who slaved over a hot stove all day to feed us incredible food had been angry instead of tickled by what I’d said? What if the Director hadn’t been the kind-hearted understanding fellow he was? What if my careless words had hurt some feelings? It was a risky thing I’d done, and to tell you the truth, I hadn’t really thought it through.

Still, I like to think I’ve matured a bit since that day, y’know? After all, not every situation can be rescued with laughter – nor is it appropriate to do so. Oh, with enough time and distance humor may come to the fore anyway. But that’s not always the case as a given situation is happening.

I admit it; I was pretty lucky that day. If the other folks hadn’t been who they were, things might have turned out very differently. Come to think of it, they might not have ever found my body! My name would have become the stuff of legends, whispered around campfires as yours truly, The Wandering Dutchman of Summer Camp, would still be wandering around that lonely, isolated camp on damp misty nights, forever doomed to search for that elusive perfect bowl of oatmeal…

Anyhoo, this story and thought seemed like an appropriate one with which to begin this brand shiny new year, y’know? The lesson is this: Be aware of your words! After all, if you can’t learn that, you just might not make it to next year, if you get my meanin’! I’m just sayin’.

Happy New Year, y’all!

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[Note: This is my entry for this year’s final groupwrite project, What I Learned From 2009. Care to join the fun? See the note at the bottom of this post!]

I’ll tell ya; it was tough picking the posts to highlight; there’s just so many choices! And deciding the selection criteria was a bear, too. For awhile, it was a close call between “Most Ignored Posts” and “Posts Least Linked To”.

But after much soul-searching (not to mention long hours minutes scanning this year’s posts) I finally decided to call this collection:

My Most Profound Lessons Learned From 2009

• The Perils of Pumpkin Bread (December) – Why it’s always important to include every ingredient in a recipe. I’ll tell ya; it was an aggravating morning – that yielded a valuable lesson!
• The Dangers of Sitting Still (November) – Sometimes you have to see the buzzards circling to realize you may be in danger, y’know? I’ll never sit still again – at least, not out in the open like that!
• Jump With Joy! (October) – Whatever you do, do it with enthusiasm! That’s what I learned from a summer camp, a little kid, and a trampoline.
• Better Pay Attention! (September) – Sometimes there’s plenty of indications that danger lies just ahead, y’know? Sadly, we often don’t pay enough attention to all those little signs. Just sayin’.
• Upwardly Mobile (August) – Reflections on the perils of being upwardly mobile. Sometimes the apparent scariness of the situation is not really all that big a thing. Maybe it just takes – doin’ it.
• What To Do When You Mess Up – Bad (July) – A bit of self-confession here. On occasion, admitting you have a problem is the first step to getting it solved. Or something.
• Exploring New Horizons (June) – A business trip to a small town in Utah led to some very interesting insights that can apply to pretty much anywhere you happen to be – if you’ll just look.
• Moseyin’ Around Downtown Chicago (May) – No doubt about it, attending SOBCon’09 taught me quite a few things about community. But outside of the conference, taking the time to wander around downtown Chicago early one morning was a wonderful bonus. Come walk with me, won’t you?
• The Trouble With Trouble (April) – Without a doubt, the best lesson I’ve ever learned from facing adversity. I’ll admit; it doesn’t make it any easier. But still, there’s comfort in knowing…
• School of Hard Knocks (March) – I just want to go on record here: no matter what conclusion you may come to when you read this one – I still blame the hat! One reason I wear a cowboy hat and not a baseball cap these days.
• From Here to There (February) – Musings on the path often convoluted paths we travel in life. Take it from me; you may not always end up where you thought you would. But then again, you might! Still, it’s the journey, not the destination, that’s interesting.
• What I Learned From Blogapalooza 2009 (January) – Here’s a few things I learned after running last year’s end-of-the-year extravaganza, Blogapalooza 2009. I’ll give you a hint: it’s all about the power of the invitation.

Well, that’s about the size of it, y’all! 12 posts chock full of, well, sumpin’ anyway. But then again, maybe that’s for you to decide, ain’t it?

Hey, here’s to a great finish for 2009!

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[Note from the Proprietor: Hey, you’re invited to join us for this final groupwrite project of the year 2009! Just click on this link: (What I Learned From 2009) and read all about it! Also, I’ve decided to leave it open a bit longer, so I’ll be accepting entries through Sunday, December 27! Lots of time left!]

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Every Ingredient is Important

You know what a recipe is, don’t you? A few cups of this, an ounce of that, and throw in a handful of those for that little something extra. Then, you mix it all together, put it in the oven and bake for 18-22 minutes or until golden brown. (Sheesh; just writing this and my mouth is watering already!)

It’s something so familiar to most of us we even use the metaphor in other ways as well. For instance, let’s say you have some particular project in mind. What’s your plan – your recipe – for making it happen? See what I mean?

The problem comes when something goes wrong. Either you fail to follow the recipe exactly, or maybe get a bit confused about what to do when. That’s sorta what happened to me the other day.

There’s a particular show I love to watch on one of the cooking channels. The host not only teaches you how to make this or that, but he often laces his shows with why certain things work the way they do. It’s almost like an impromptu chemistry lesson – only it has to do with cooking and stuff. Very informative, and always fun to watch.

It’s fascinating how each ingredient in a recipe has a certain function, too. Although some are obviously just for flavoring or coloring, others perform in certain ways that, had they been left out, would seriously compromise the end result. Sometimes, a simple mistake turns what was supposed to be deliciously scrumptious into a colorless, tasteless blob of glop. (Trust me, this is experience talkin’ here. *sigh*)

It Seemed So Simple

Anyhoo – the other day I decided to make some pumpkin bread. (Yeah, you already know where this is going, don’t you?) That seemed like a simple enough thing, right? All I had to do was preheat the oven, open the box, dump said box’s contents in a bowl, add a few simple ingredients, mix, pour into the pan, and slide it into the waiting oven. Nothing to it. He said.

As it turned out, though, it wasn’t – quite – that simple. But it’s not my fault! Who knew the box had not one, but two different recipes on the back?

First of all, you could use the same mix for either pumpkin bread or pumpkin muffins. Wow, tough choice, I’ll tell ya – they’re both yummy. But, I started out making pumpkin bread, so I figured I might as well finish with it. Or so I thought.

The first thing that went awry was, after I dumped the specified amount of milk into the mix, that’s when I discovered the milk was for muffins, not for bread. Apparently I was supposed to use water instead. Hmph.

OK, I said to myself, I’ll make muffins then! Problem solved, right?

Then I realized I’d used the wrong amount of oil as well, getting them reversed as I did the milk. This time, though, the amount I actually used was right – for the bread, that is. It was, unfortunately, way too much for the muffins. Grbl grbl.

So what was I making, anyway? I wondered. The answer, it seemed was, Who knows? Still, I’ve successfully substituted milk for water before in other concoctions with good results, so I figured, still not a problem.

Finally, just for the heck of it, I threw in a cup of cranberries. Why? Hey, I like cranberries! Seemed like a good idea at the time, anyway.

A Little Minor Detail

The next question was a little more fundamental: which cooking time was the correct one? See, muffins are supposed to bake about 18 minutes (when in muffin cups, of course), but for bread, it was a surprising 40 to 45 minutes! So again, the question of what the heck am I making seemed to be relevant. (I had visions of pulling a smoking, black brick out of the oven here.)

Unfortunately I had no ready answer: was I making cranberry pumpkin breaffins, or pumpkin-cranberry muffibread? Or something never before seen on the planet? Only Heaven knew, it seemed and – at least so far – they weren’t talkin’. (Probably just as mystified as I was.)

Since there was really no way to know, I decided to set the timer for 20 minutes, then just watch and test the dough until the result was done. I poured the mix into a bread pan, popped it into the oven, and set the timer. Whew! Never have I  had so much trouble baking a simple little treat!

Nevertheless, in spite the annoying speed bumps, I finally managed to get the job done. My spirits lifted as I silently contemplated the tasty result. And that’s when I noticed that pesky little detail. You see those two eggs there in the photo? Well, after poppin’ my bread in the oven, I turned around and, still sittin’ there on the counter were those two eggs!

Time stood still for a moment as I contemplated – very briefly – just letting it go. But no, I was determined to eat something delicious this morning, whatever the cost. So I pulled the pan out of the oven, dumped it all back into the bowl and tossed in the eggs (minus their shells, of course!)

Back in the oven it went and finally it was well and truly time to sit back and wait to see what happened. I mean, after everything that had gone wrong so far, I would have been happy to just be able to eat whatever came out of the oven, y’know?

The Oven Test

Well, 30 minutes passed, and it was rising nicely – but not done yet. 35 minutes, 40 minutes, 45 – still not yet; a clean knife driven through the heart of the loaf (reminiscent of that gruesome shower scene in the movie Psycho) still came out with uncooked dough on it. Either this thing was going to end up light and fluffy – or that smoking black brick I had visualized earlier, I wasn’t sure which.

Finally, after 49 minutes, I dragged it out of the oven and set it on the rack to cool. Hmmm. Well, although it looked almost overdone, still, it wasn’t too bad. I gotta say though; it smelled wonderful! Maybe there was hope for it after all.

Well, I won’t keep you in suspense; my Frankenstein concoction actually turned out pretty good, if I do say so myself! Despite the violence done to the original recipe, the bread turned out moist and full of that delicious, spicy pumpkin flavor. And the cranberries I tossed in added just that little something extra I’d hoped for. Even I was surprised at how well it turned out; particularly considering all the things that went wrong.

Ah well, all’s well that ends well, I always say!

What Making Pumpkin Bread Teaches Us About Life

But wait! After all this discombobulation, you may be wondering just what the heck did it all mean, anyway? Was there, in fact, a lesson or two to be learned from such a zany turn of events? I mean, is there anything life has to teach us when what is supposed to be a dead simple recipe gets twisted up and all topsy-turvey?

And the answer is (all together now): why yes there is! In fact, there are several things we can learn when our so-called well-laid plans don’t quite go as we expect:

1. Read the Directions! All right; chances are you probably thought of this one just as soon as you started reading this little adventure. Yup; I guess the best lessons are usually the most obvious, aren’t they? I must admit I didn’t read the directions first but started out throwing this and that into a bowl. Even a cursory look at the box and I would’ve seen the two different recipes, and maybe none of this would have happened. Oh, I suppose, like a politician, I could always blame the box for messin’ me up here. But not even the box would be fooled on that score, right?
2. Every ingredient has its function. Sometimes it ain’t so easy to tell exactly what a certain ingredient adds to the final result. Oh, most folks know eggs are necessary for almost any baked good – but do you know why? It sometimes helps to know that sort of thing, just in case something goes wrong, y’know? Makes it easier to fix. As in life, I might add. My advice: don’t just do things “because”; do them because you know why you’re doing them.
3. Be flexible. One of the arguably more valuable things I’ve learned from life is the fact that, even when if things go perfectly (Q: have they ever?), something almost always happens you didn’t expect. Yep; that’s life all right, and it’s a laugh a minute, I’ll tell ya! The best way to cope with that sort of thing, though, is to be flexible enough to work with whatever comes your way. Sometimes you’ll have to make a few quick changes, or even be prepared to modify your expectations a bit (like my decision to *sigh* finally give up on bein’ a Spaceman). Just remember this: the only thing that stands a chance of rescuing even the most screwed-up outcome may be your flexibility.
4. Don’t leave an important step out! OK, like I said, some lessons are obvious. But despite the temptation to forge ahead anyway, lemme just say this: If you did forget something, then it’s definitely worth the trouble to take a step back and put what’s missing back in! I mean, there’s no telling how this thing would have baked up without those two eggs in it – but I’m absolutely positive it wouldn’t have been edible. I’d have probably ended up with something along the lines of that pumpkin-cranberry flavored brick I mentioned earlier. Sure it was a hassle; but it was worth it. Sometimes you gotta go backwards in order to go forwards, y’know?
5. Don’t forget to learn something! I’ll tell ya one thing; I’m not gonna make this mistake again soon! This was supposed to be a simple, easy treat, but it turned into an aggravatin’, teeth-grinding, trial of errors! I don’t mind tellin’ ya, I was about fit to be tied when I noticed them eggs sittin’ there, starin’ at me. Probably laughing at me behind my back, too. Well Bubba, it won’t happen again! I’ve learned my lesson quite well, thank you very much: know the recipe, follow the plan. Simple it is, but let’s keep it simple, shall we?
6. Don’t forget to laugh about it later. Hey, when everything is said and done, the fact is, more is usually said than done. And if you can’t get a chuckle or two out of it (given time, of course), then what’s the point, I ask ya? No matter what happens, you’ve got to keep a sense of humor about you or all is lost, y’know? Besides, when you’re a writer like me, it just makes a good story! Just sayin’.

Well, there you have it, folks. How I learned a few valuable lessons when a seemingly simple task turned into a near-disaster (at least, for my taste buds, anyway). To quote that great American philosopher, Captain John “Hannibal” Smith from The A-Team: “I love it when a plan comes together!”

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Memory Walk, CC by Robert Hruzek

Notes from my Brazil Travel Journal:

Having been privileged (or cursed, depending upon how you choose to look at it) enough to travel so much, flying domestically has become rather humdrum to me. Usually I simply pass the time with a good book.

For some reason, though, this time I struck up a conversation with the nice lady in the seat next to me. It turned out she was on her way to Madrid, Spain, to meet her husband, who is working somewhere in Africa.

Before too long, we found ourselves sharing stories about the different places we’d been, and it struck me anew how literally everyone has a story to tell, don’t they? The thing is, some folks have the remarkable ability to be able to recall ‘em at the drop of a hat. Others (like little ol’ me) need some kind of “tweak” to drag them out into the open.

As for me, it usually takes an image, a word, or even a factoid in someone else’s story to open up that dusty file cabinet in the ol’ memory banks and pop out a file folder I’d completely forgotten about.

Wouldn’t it be nice if our brains had a sort of Google application to find specific memories? Wow, how would that work, anyway? After all, with an entire lifetime of memories, it would take even the fastest computer chip to search that many bytes of information.

Anyway, in the meantime I’ll just have to rely on the only sure method – using one memory to find another. Alas.

What about you? Do you find it easy to recall stories from your own past? Or are you like me – you need a crowbar to pry ‘em out? What technique would you suggest to improve that ability? I’d love to know!

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