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?

_______________________

Photo credit: F, by duncan

_______________________

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!

____________________

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!

_______________________

[(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.]

_________________

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?]

_________________

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!

_________________

[* 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)]

_________________

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!

________________________

[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!

_____________________________

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

_______________________________

[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.]

_______________________________

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.

______________________

“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?

__________________________

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!

_________________________

[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!

_________________________

[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!]

_________________________

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!”

_______________________

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!

______________________________

[Warning: Slight political rant here today.]

Light.

It’s one of those things we can’t do without, y’know? Over the centuries of human existence, light has become culturally synonymous with enlightenment, clarity, and all things positive.

Darkness, on the other hand, is equated with fear, obfuscation, and secrets.

Maybe that’s because light is so useful in revealing that which is not clearly seen. For instance…

Early Morning in Downtown Houston

I was downtown Houston a few weeks ago for a seminar. It was on the 4^th floor in a rather nice hotel next to the Convention Center (that unusual-looking building you see in this photo).

Since the traffic situation was a big fat unknown to me, I decided to go fairly early. (I live in Tomball, a small town on the outskirts of NW Houston – a drive of about 40 miles.) As usual, leaving earlier meant ‘way less traffic, so that was good. On the other hand, I got there so early it was still about an hour and a half before the seminar started.

To kill some time I spent an hour or so watching the sun rise and shooting a few photos in Discovery Green Park, a small park right across the street from the hotel. (You’ll no doubt hear more about the Park in future posts, but if you’re interested, you can check out some of the photos I took here.)

Anyway, just before the seminar started, I was helping myself to something from the breakfast buffet (don’t worry; it was healthy stuff – promise!) when I happened to glance out the window. Or to be more painfully accurate, I glanced at the window.

Yuck!

I mean to tell ya; it was disgusting! It looked like… well, forget the descriptive; you can see for yourself. The morning sunlight had dramatically illuminated the dirt on this window to the point where it was almost all I could see!

Needless to say, if you folks from the hotel staff are listening, I think you might want to invest in a bottle of Windex and a big ol’ bucket of elbow grease. (There’s even a convenient ledge upon which to stand – just, um,  don’t step back to admire your work! Just sayin’.)

The Power of Light

Yep; no doubt about it, light can be a pretty powerful tool when it comes to revealing stuff.

You can use light to find something lost. The other day, Mrs. MZM dropped a tiny little pill on the rug in our bathroom. Now, you’d think something like that would be pretty easy to find, right? I mean, the rug ain’t that big! But no, because of its color, it simply blended into the rug. So I turned on a flashlight and held it down low, parallel to the floor. Sure enough, the shadow of the pill gave it away! Voila!

Have you ever tried to convince someone to do something – but it was based on, perhaps, shaky logic? No need to raise your hand, my friends; we’ve all done it, haven’t we? I mean, from childhood (it wasn’t me, Mom!) it’s been a long succession of attempts to convince folks I knew what I was talkin’ about.

And what about (sound of terrified scream) politics? How many times has one politician after another made a statement – or ten – that simply didn’t hold up under the application of a little light on the subject? I mean, what’s with that, anyway? And what’s even sillier – they actually get upset when you do it, too! As if they were tryin’ to, y’know, put something over on us…

I mean, take the fracas over Health Care that’s goin’ on here in the U.S. (please!) You’ve got folks on both sides talkin’ as loud as they can, tryin’ to convince you they’re right and the other guy is wrong. Hey, I say we drag out the light and let’s take a look at it!

Does it do this, or that, or even that other thing? With just a little examination, we can find out for ourselves just what it says. Why be afraid of reading it, y’know? And why do they object to us reading it, I wonder?

All I’m sayin’ is, light can be a most powerful tool when it comes to discovering something fundamental – like the truth. And when folks start objecting to its use, well Bubba, don’cha find yourself wonderin’ just what exactly they’ve got to hide?

I’m just sayin’.

_____________________________

Too Close For Comfort

Sometimes important lessons lurk in the most innocuous places, y’know?

Take a look at this photo, for instance. Don’t worry; no marauding alligators lurking in here this time! Nope, this time it’s just a… (sound of terrified scream) spice rack.

Let’s see… ya got your ground cinnamon, a large can of sea salt, one of those rectangular cans of nutmeg, a little tiny (yet somehow, ridiculously expensive) bottle of vanilla extract…

But here’s the deal. Right next to the ground cinnamon on the top rack there’s a bottle of chili powder. Anyone see the danger? I mean, it’s a bottle of cinnamon (ooh, sweet!) right next to an almost-identical bottle of (aack!) chili powder!

Can you say “catastrophe”?

They Say It’s the Thought That Counts

Let’s say, as a surprise for my beloved Mrs. MZM, I decided to make a nice, hot batch of chocolate-chip cookies. (Unfortunately, thanks to the diet we’re on, this is only an imaginary scenario. *sigh*) Now I ask you; what’s the absolute best thing to top a big ol’ plate of fresh-baked cookies? You guessed it – a light dusting of ground cinnamon! (I’m tellin’ ya, folks – even as I write this, my tummy is doin’ somersaults!)

But lemme ask ya: What if I were to accidentally grab the chili powder instead of the cinnamon? Hey, it’s not so far-fetched – they’re right there next to each other, y’know? Can you picture the potential for disaster?

An Evening Filled With Promise

Now, imagine the Mrs. and I are parked on the bear skin rug in front of the fireplace for a nice, romantic evening. (By the way, we don’t actually have a bear skin rug. But it makes a nice scene, don’cha think? Besides, I don’t think I could stand having the thing stare at me accusingly, y’know?)

Anyhoo – the lights are low; there’s a candle or two lit for ambiance. A couple of glasses of chilled sparkling water fizz quietly on the table, their gently rising bubbles catching the candlelight provocatively. The sweet sounds of gentle jazz on the sound system soothes the day’s stress away.

Now for a final surprise, I bring out my just-baked batch of cookies for that little extra “somethin’special”. Mrs. MZM’s eyes light up in delight at the unexpected treat. She smiles delightedly as she reaches for a still-warm golden delight and gently places it upon her tongue.

- then her eyes grow wide in shock as she begins to violently choke! Do ya think the accidental use of chili powder instead of cinnamon might, well, ruin the mood? Yup; pretty much like that iceberg sank the Titanic!

Pay Attention!

Anyhoo – my point is, there’s little surprises like this one all over the place. I mean, life if full of ‘em, y’know? So what’s a body to do? Hey, there’s actually a pretty simple solution: you just gotta pay attention.

How many times have you suddenly discovered you’ve been on autopilot for the last 10 minutes while your brain took a short holiday and wandered around on its own? It usually happens when you’re doing something you’ve done a thousand times before, like driving to work, or watching the weather. (Here’s a typical conversation at our house immediately after the weather forecast: “Dear, what did he say the weather was going to be like tomorrow?” “I don’t know, Honey, my mind wandered off for a minute and I missed it.”)

So consider this a friendly little reminder, y’all! Pay attention to the stuff around you – especially the small stuff! Hey, you never know when a seemingly insignificant detail could make a really, really BIG difference! Just sayin’.

What About YOU?

So when was the last time you narrowly avoided a disaster of epic proportions by noticing a seeming “small” detail? What was it, and how did you manage to catch yourself before something, um, undesired happened? Did you learn anything from it?

Enquiring minds want to know!

_______________________

OK; I think it’s time I, um, came clean about something, y’all. Yup; time to unburden my soul, so to speak, and get down the bare facts.

I freely admit it: My name is Robert, and I have…(sound of terrified scream) striped feet!

Blue Suede Shoes Sandals

Some years ago when I was working in Aruba (yes it’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it!), I was browsing one of the zillions of gift shops in Orangestad (which is the capital of Aruba, for you Geography buffs) and came across these amazing blue sandals.

From the moment I laid eyes on these babies, I was hooked! AND, the best part is, they only cost me 9 bucks! What a steal! As far as I’m concerned, nothin’ says “Hey, I’m I’m one totally cool and completely laid back Bubba!” like a pair of bright blue sandals like these, y’know?

I’ll tell ya; I wore those things everywhere (except, of course, church; I had a more, um, formal pair of sandals for that). Shopping, beach-combing, sight-seeing (although on a tiny island like Aruba you quickly run out of things to see) – I pretty much lived in ‘em when I wasn’t, y’know, working in the refinery. (I tried to find a pair of steel-toed sandals for work, but alas, no luck. *sigh*)

When the weather was hot (with a year-round constant temperature of about 95ºF, that’s pretty much all the time in Aruba) wearing sandals is almost, well, required. There’s simply no better way to keep the ol’ dogs cool in that climate, y’know? (Aruba is only a few degrees north of the equator, in case you didn’t know. If it wasn’t for the constant breeze, it’d be unbearably stifling!)

Besides, you’d probably stand out if you weren’t wearing ‘em. I mean, little children would point and laugh; dogs would chase you, and you’d probably be ostracized from polite society. (Just kidding; but you would be in a very small minority.)

Unexpected Consequences

But as luck would have it, I did discover one drawback to wearing sandals all day. And not only that, but this, well, catastrophe applies to sandal-wearing folk all over the world! Yep; one serious problem that no one seems to talk about.

It makes me wonder, why haven’t more people spoken up about this issue? Are there support groups out there we don’t hear about? I mean, this is something literally thousands – maybe even millions -  of folks are probably suffering from right this very minute.

Of course I’m talkin’ about (sound of terrified scream) striped feet

See, the thing is, even though no longer in Aruba, I still wear those sandals during the summer months (which is usually from late February through most of November here in Houston). After all, when you’ve got a good thing goin’, y’know.

But what’s really strange is, in all this time, up until just the other day, I never noticed that little, well, side-effect to wearing ‘em. And I must’ve been goin’ around with really noticeable stripes while in Aruba, considering the bright sunshine and all.

The Floor is Open!

Now, bein’ the Middle Zone and all, the aim here is to discover lessons learned from life, right? So, with that in mind, I sat down and tried to figure out (sound of grinding gears) just exactly what kinda lesson my sandals might be tryin’ to teach me, y’know.

AND… I got nothin’. Yep, you heard it right, y’all; I didn’t get a doggone thing! It kinda makes me wonder: is there a lesson to be learned from all this?

So… with that in mind, I thought I’d open the floor up for a sorta group discussion and let y’all tell me what I’m supposed to learn! Whaddaya say, folks? How about helpin’ me out here and contributing your suggestions down there in the comment box for me, won’t ya? Get as creative as you like – the more intriguing, the better.

I’m all ears, y’all; spread the word and let’s see how many ideas you can come up with!

________________________