Category Archives: mistakes

Dawn of the Dead

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Ran across an interesting question on Twitter a few weeks ago: Writers, have you ever faced harsh criticism?

I must admit that question strikes a chord with me. Oh, not necessarily from something that happened here at Middle Zone Musings or anything. I’m happy to report that, since I started writing here at the Zone, there have only been a couple of instances when someone decided to, er, let me have it.

What was it about, you ask? Well, suffice it to say, said criticism had absolutely nothing to do with my ability to write, if you get my meanin’. Thankfully, things have pretty much always been fairly even-keeled around here. I suppose, in a way, it’s a welcome vindication of my goal that the Zone appeal to as many folks as possible.

Anyhoo, getting’ back to the subject…

Lookin’ a mite further back, though, I remember all those English teachers I faced from grade school on up through college. But I suppose we all wrestled with them as we grew up. Par for the course, right? So, on the whole, I’d say I’ve done OK.

Ah, but what about undeserved criticism vis a vis your writing ability? Now that’s a critter of a different hue, wouldn’t ya say? I remember this one, um, professor (imagine the word forced out through clenched teeth – but don’t worry; I’m over it now) from my first year in college…

Firm Foundation

Now ya gotta understand, y’all; I started reading at an early age and loved it. Back when I was a kid (that’s human, not goat), while everyone else was outside playing in the sandbox, you’d more than likely find me over in a quiet corner somewhere reading a book.

Even back then science fiction was my favorite (and still is, for that matter). Not that one type of reading matter is better than any other type, mind you, but I’ve always believed reading sci-fi stories is what helped jump start a broad technical vocabulary, not to mention help point me towards my current career in engineering. (At least that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.)

Well, once I grasped the fundamentals of writing (somewhere along about High School) I always got good grades on writing assignments. Plus, along the way I discovered writing was sorta fun – especially when I was allowed to let loose my imagination, y’know?

Suffice it to say, then, that I was fairly confident in my ability to string words together in a way that not only managed to say what I wanted to them to say, but I could say it in a way that would satisfy pretty much anyone. Until, as I said, I started college.

Rude Awakening

My first-year encounter with college was quite an adjustment, I’ll tell ya! Not only was it my first time living away from home, but it wasn’t long before I ran smack dab into a particularly hard truth about college life. The fact is, the word school took on a whole new meaning for me. See, up until then, going to school wasn’t really a choice, y’know? I mean, I had to go whether I liked it or not.

I quickly discovered, however, that now I was surrounded by folks who had actually chosen to be there. (Imagine that!) And I’m not exaggerating in the least when I say that put a whole ‘nuther hump on the camel, if you get my meanin’.

Even the teachers (oops, professors) were different. Although most of them genuinely seemed to like what they were doing, there were a few who sorta, er, stood out from the herd – both good and bad. And I’ll tell ya; nobody was worse than… Dr. Dead! (flash of lighting, crack of thunder, sound of terrified scream)

Dr. Dead

Now, at first blush you may be thinkin’ to yerself, Hey, that’s a pretty harsh moniker to give a college professor! Where’s the respect, Bubba? But hear me out, my friends; hear me out as I relate to you what happened on that fateful first day in English 101.

Here’s the scene: It’s your typical college classroom, complete with room-spanning blackboard at the front (yes, we used blackboards back then – and please, no snide “age” comments from the peanut gallery, thank you very much) along with a wooden teacher’s desk that had obviously seen better days. About 25 of us were seated in metal and/or wooden student’s desks, back packs at our feet, freshly-scrubbed faces eager and ready for our first exposure to, y’know, what we laughingly refer to as “higher eddicashun” (that’s “education” for you upper-crust types).

Anyway, once we all got situated, an old man tottered in and headed for the desk at the front. (Yes, he really “tottered”. Seriously.) Upon reaching the desk, he turned around, sat down on the edge and crossed his legs like a talk show host. Then he crossed his arms as well, all the while giving us the once-over with his steely gaze. (For you “body language” gurus: what would that posture tell you?) Then:

“Good morning; my name is (name redacted to protect, er, me),” he began in his thin, reedy voice. “This is English 101, and for those of you who may have heard this is a tough class… well, they are quite correct.”

He continued in this vein for a few minutes, and I could see the other students’ eyes reflecting the same sense of impending doom I was beginning to feel. After a while, he began to talk about his “style”, and that’s when it started getting a mite, um, surreal.

“Now some of you may consider yourselves to be good, or even excellent at your use of the English language.” He paused to survey the room, making sure he had all our attention, then – well, that’s when he lowered the ol’ boom on us. “I want you to understand this fact: I will be the sole judge of your ability to write. It doesn’t matter what you think; my opinion is the only one that matters here. I am sixty-four and one-half years old, and only six months from retirement, so we’re going to do this class my way, and my way only!”

There was more, but I’m tellin’ ya, at this point it was so quiet a dropped pin woulda sounded like a 30-car pileup; I don’t think any of us even dared breathe for a few moments. I mean, what the heck was this? It was after that first class when I overheard a couple of other students use the name, “Dr. Dead”. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for that little gem to stick.

He Lived Up To His Name

I’ll tell ya, when he told us his way was the only way, he wasn’t kidding! Our first paper was due the very next class (and for those of you who don’t know, English 101 is pretty much ALL writing “papers”) and I knew it was going to either make or break me as far as this class was concerned. Although I admit my confidence was a mite shaken, at that point I wasn’t too worried. I mean, I had already proven I was pretty good at it, right? (He said, nervously.)

Well, I turned my paper in on time (of course). When we met next, I was running a bit late, so by the time I arrived Dr. Dead was already handing out our graded papers. As he delivered each one I tried to see if there were any clues as to the results.

Yup, sure enough. It was kinda like watchin’ wallpaper fade (albeit a mite faster). Each face reflected the same sequence of reactions. First, there was a widening of the eyes in surprise (when they saw their grade), followed by a silent snort of disgust (or its equivalent) as they immediately compared it with their neighbor’s grades. Finally, there was a rolling of the eyes as they realized EVERYONE was as shocked as they were.

I was therefore not too surprised that my own grade was, er, less than stellar; I mean, I’d already seen the movie, if you follow me. Even so, I couldn’t help myself; as soon as I got mine, well, my eyes widened, I snorted – ah, you get the picture, right?

But it wasn’t that the grade starin’ me in the face was, to put it mildly, less that what I expected. I mean, that was bad enough. No, it was the fact that, right up there at the top of the page, there was a big, fat “F”! And in red ink, no less!

What the heck was this!?! I mean, I put my heart and soul into that paper – just so he would know I was better than the average writer, y’know? And this was my reward!? To say I was shocked is something of an understatement.

From Bad To Worse

Well, the class continued along those lines for pretty much the rest of the semester. And on every single paper, no matter what I did, I got almost the same results. (Although I did manage to pull out a “D” on one. I partied for a week.)

To say I was frustrated would be a major insult to the word “frustrated”, I’m tellin’ ya! I had conferences with the man several times, and each time he merely repeated his initial statement: his way or nothing. As the semester ground on, I even met with the Dean of the English Department to complain. Unsurprisingly, I got no help there.

I finally ended up dropping the class in hopes I could retake it with a different professor the next semester. And, although I passed it that second time, suffice it to say that by then my love of writing had pretty much been snuffed out like Smokey the Bear stomping out an unattended campfire in the woods.

I’ll tell ya, folks; I knew when I was beaten. As I look back on it now, I’m sure this little episode went a long way towards squelching my secret boyhood dream to eventually become a successful, rich and famous (not to mention loved by fans everywhere) sci-fi author. Sad, but true. (Not to lessen my own personal responsibility for makin’ the choice, mind you.) But to tell you the truth, I never wrote anything for fun again – until I took up blogging back in 2006.

A Hard Lesson

Well I’m not ashamed to admit I learned a hard lesson from this, y’all, and sad to say, it don’t necessarily paint ol’ yours truly in the best of lights, if you get my meanin’. My only defense, as pitiful as it may be, is that I was younger (and presumably more, well, let’s tell it like it was: stupid) than I am now.

The hard fact is, I’m the one who allowed that professor to dictate how I felt about my own writing – and about myself. In fact, I’ll go ever farther and say this: whether or not I was a good writer was irrelevant to the fact that I let someone else tell me how to feel about myself!

Friends, listen to an old cowboy and learn somethin’, won’t ya? Don’t do that!

As I’ve discovered the hard way, how we feel about ourselves is the one thing we’re pretty much in control of in this life, y’know? This incident, and others like it, taught me how easy it is to take someone else’s self-esteem down a notch or two.

And it doesn’t stop there. No, this sort of thing can have long-term consequences as well. It took quite a few years before I was again willing to risk having someone else read anything I wrote – in my case, 34 years. Yeesh, what a waste! But not to worry, I think I’ve finally gotten over it.

In fact, nowadays it’s gotten to where it’s kinda hard to shut me up. But then, that’s a dog of a different spot, wouldn’t ya say?

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Photo credit: F, by duncan

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And Speaking of Imponderable Questions…

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

Out of Place

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

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

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

(Sound of Dull Thud)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Assignment for the Day Life

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

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

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

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

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

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Getting the Wrong Impression

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I don’t know about you, but chances are fair to middlin’ at least some folks developed at least one or two false impressions about you (or your business) at some time in your life, right? Hey, it happens. Sometimes folks just flat out misunderstand what you said – or meant – or did – and the lines of communication get all snarled up like a fishing reel that’s gone haywire.

Hey, it’s bad enough when your customers get the wrong impression of you or your business. At least when you have a relationship with your customers, you might (at least, hopefully) get the chance to explain.

But what about when your customers give others the wrong impression? What the heck can you do then?

Bus Driver for Hire

Back when I was a starving student at Texas A&M, for spending money I drove shuttle buses around the campus. I’ll tell ya; that was one great job: flexible hours, good pay, and when you got right down to it, pretty easy work.

Probably the hardest part of the job was navigating through the sometimes narrow streets on campus. Generally speaking, that wasn’t too bad a problem – unless, of course, some bonehead parked their car where it shouldn’t have been. Many’s the time I wished we had a handy, er, dozer blade on the front of the bus. But I digress.

Anyway, one day my supervisor asked some of us if we wanted to earn a little extra income by working on an upcoming Saturday. Naturally we all perked up at that – until, that is, we heard what the job actually was. The task, he told us, was to drive the local Jewish elementary school’s children (about 200 or so of the little darlings) from College Station to downtown Houston. Turns out they had arranged a special showing of the stage version of Fiddler on the Roof for the kids, and the best way to get ‘em all there was using our buses.

Well, let’s see… on the one hand, the mental image of driving to Houston with 50 or so screaming elementary kids on my bus for approximately 3 hours – each way – was, well, a mite daunting. (For those of you familiar with the drive, what would normally take a little more than an hour-and-a-half or so would take at least twice as long for this trip because rules required us to drive no faster than 50 miles per hour.) Still, after due consideration, the lure of that extra spending money convinced four of us to finally throw caution to the winds and say, What the hey!

What’s This Got to Do with Beer?

By now you’re probably wondering just what the heck this image of assorted beer bottles has to do with this story. Hey, I’m glad you asked! The fact is, whenever I remember this particular day, it’s the only thing I can think of.

That’s because, for the entire 3-hour drive from College Station to Houston – and then again for the entire drive back – the kids sang what I consider to be the Worlds Stupidest Song: “99 Bottles of Beer”! Just in case you’ve lived under a rock your entire life and have never heard it (congratulations!), it goes like this:

99 bottles of beer on the wall,

99 bottles of beer –

You take one down,

And pass it around -

98 bottles of beer on the wall!

98 bottles of beer on the wall,

98 bottles of beer –

You take one down,

And pass it around –

97 bottles of beer on the wall!

97 bottles of –

Well, you get the picture, right? No kidding, y’all; they sang the entire stupid song down from 99 bottles to 1 – and then started over again. And again. And… again. I’ll tell ya; by the time we arrived at the Music Hall in downtown Houston, I was sorely tempted to let ‘em out – and then leave ‘em all there! Yeesh!

While the kids were inside watching the show, we four drivers found a coffee shop to hang out in. As I sat there, silently contemplating the trip back (with no small amount of dread), one of the other drivers finally broke the silence and asked, “Did your kids… uh, sing any songs on your bus?”

That was when the awful truth was revealed: it wasn’t just my group, but all of ‘em were singing that stupid song! What gives with that, we wondered. Just what the heck were they teaching those kids at that school, anyway?

Getting the Wrong Idea

After about 3.5 nanoseconds, though, I realized it wasn’t really the school’s fault their elementary-aged kids seem to have a fixation on, well, beer. Hey, kids are kids; they’ll do all kinds of things you won’t expect. Nature of the, er, beasts, if you follow me. And I reflected a moment or two on how easy it was to think of the school as bein’ the problem.

It’s really funny sometimes just what kind of impression your customers give of you, isn’t it? I mean, when you get right down to it, that’s something you really don’t have too much control over. Oh, sure; you can do your best to influence, mitigate, or even try to direct the conversation – but when you get right down to it, they’re pretty much gonna do what they’re gonna do.

If you were the principal of this particular school and just read this story, what would you be thinking along about now?

So the question is, how do you handle it when folks get the wrong idea about your business. Or even worse – what if the wrong impression is all about you?

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This is my entry for this month’s “What I Learned From Children” groupwrite project. Hey, you’re welcome to join us – all you have to do is follow this cute little link and read all about it!

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The Perils of Pumpkin Bread

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Every Ingredient is Important

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

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

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

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

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

It Seemed So Simple

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Little Minor Detail

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Oven Test

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

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

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

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

What Making Pumpkin Bread Teaches Us About Life

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

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

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

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

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Not What You Expected

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You ever get the feeling someone, somewhere, is just waitin’ for an opportunity to make you look like an idiot?

Yep; been there, my friends. The worst part about it is, I find I’m often subconsciously working in cahoots with that mysterious stranger; handing ‘em all the ammunition they need. You ever felt like that? Naah; not you.

Anyhoo, today’s thought is just that: a thought about what happens when something completely unexpected happens.

Take, f’rinstance, this scene from The Lake House I saw on TV. I mean, I’m almost positive Sandra Bullock didn’t expect anyone to paste their obtrusive advertising message across her, um, nether regions like this. And just to make it even more ironic, it happened to be this particular message!

So what do you do when, right there in front of the whole world, the unexpected happens to you?

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Better Pay Attention!

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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!

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The "Doggone" Peril of Brand Names

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I was in the grocery store the other day when, turning a corner, I was greeted by a stack of those big sacks of dog food. You know the ones, right? The kind Marmaduke the Great Dane would make a light snack of.

Anyway, take note of the brand name: Old Yeller.

Well, I don’t mind tellin’ ya folks; I was a mite taken aback!

Notice the brand name just above the word “Old”. My first thought was, those folks over at the Mouse Kingdom oughtta know better! I mean, doesn’t anybody remember: the dog died at the end!

Sheesh.

Anyhoo; it made me think about how brand names, no matter how appropriate – or ridiculous – come about.

Oh, sure; most likely there had to be some sort of testing done. ( I have this vision of a room full of dogs. The tester says, “Doggie Bits”, then counts the number of barks it generates. “OK, four. Now, how about ‘Old Yeller’? Aha; 10 barks! ‘Old Yeller it is!”)

Awright; maybe they were people instead of dogs. But I gotta wonder; did anyone in that group ever see the movie? Most likely, if they were from my generation they probably did. But younger folk may not have – and subsequently not know about the sad – and if you’re a kid, rather traumatic – ending.

Who would want to remember that every time they fed their faithful family pet? It’s kinda like sayin’, “Here ya go, Rufus; eat up, ’cause tomorrow you die!”

What about it? Anyone else thinkin’ the same way as me, or am I, er, barkin’ up the wrong tree? (Sorry.)

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Photo: Old Yeller Dog Food, by Robert Hruzek

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