Have you ever heard this expression: “engraved in stone”? Generally speaking, it refers to something so sure, so predictable, it’s practically a foregone conclusion.

For example, it’s almost a sure thing that every time I drive by a certain well-known national chain ice cream parlor, I have to wrestle with the steering wheel on my car to keep the danged thing from pulling into their drive. Mrs. MZM would say that behavior is practically engraved in stone, y’know? (Alas, that’s a tough one to break; it’s, er, part of how I lost my *ahem* youthful figure – and ended up on this here diet!)

Anyhoo; the thing is, that behavior didn’t just happen overnight. Nope; I had to build it over time.

Building a Bad Habit

Back in 1985, when we first lived in Greenville, South Carolina, the road that took me from home to the office passed right by one of those aforementioned ice cream places. No big deal, you say? Well, this one had something we’d never seen at one of these things before: a drive-through window!

Alas, it was a recipe for disaster! (Well, I gotta admit, the inclination was already there.) All it took to cause me make a bat-turn in the middle of the road and slide up to the window, tires squealing like a stunt driver’s take a left instead of heading straight home after work was that extra little convenience.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before the results began to show up on the ol’ waistline, y’know?

But that’s the way bad habits work, don’t they? It may be something subtle at first, but you know how it goes, right? Before too long, it’s become a habit and you’re hooked! The problem, as we all know, is that once formed, bad habits can be oh-so-hard to get rid of. That’s because the behavior that produced the habit has become ingrained in our life.

What to do? Well, the best way to avoid the problem is to keep the bad habit from forming in the first place, right? So how do you head those pesky little things off at the pass?

How To Avoid Bad Habits

Here’s a couple of tips you can try. You just have to, y’know, do ‘em.

Know Yourself – Probably the most important weapon in your arsenal is to know your own strengths. And while you’re at it, get to know your weaknesses, too. I  mean, if you don’t even like ice cream, then Bubba, you ain’t got no problem at all when the ol’ Ice Cream Angel calls your name, right? Alas, most of us don’t fall into that category, so consequently have to admit that particular temptation has legs. But as they say in practically every guide to problem-solving I’ve ever read, the first step to solving a problem – is admitting there’s a problem! That ol’ sayin’, “forewarned is forearmed” has never been more true!

Know Your  Goals – The thing is, when it comes to this particular brand of ice cream, well, let’s just say if one of my goals was to become the World’s “Biggest” Project Manager and get my name in the record books, then I was certainly on the right track! However, since it, um, wasn’t, then obviously it wasn’t gonna help, y’know? Most of the time, all it takes is just a little thought to realize what’s good for your goals – and what’s not. Then all you have to do is, y’know, do the right thing.

Know Your Decisions Ahead of Time – Here’s the best weapon of all, and trust me on this, it’s something we can all do. Knowing that ice cream parlor was there (and I was pretty much forced to drive by it every day) well, I had to make the decision to NOT turn in – before the place was even in sight. I know it sounds simple, and it is. But the fact is, decisions of this nature just naturally are so much easier when you’re not in the midst of the battle, so to speak. Just decide , right now, what you’re going to do. Then, when it comes time to actually do it, you’ll find it so much easier!

Are There More Ways?

So what about you guys? How do you avoid bad habits? I’ve only listed three things; there’s bound to be lots more. Leave your suggestions in the comment box and let’s all have a big belly laugh learn something!

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Photo: Engraved in Stone, by Robert Hruzek

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Have you ever tried to ignore trouble? Yeah, thought so. (No need to raise your hand; you know who you are.)

Doesn’t work, does it? Somehow, it has a way of finding you anyway.

Aruba, 1994

Back in the summer of 1994 I spent about 4 months working at a refinery in Aruba. (Yeah, yeah, I know; it’s a dirty job, but somebody had to do it.) Without going into a long, drawn-out explanation of just exactly how it happened, Mrs. MZM and I decided to rent a house instead of me staying in the company-supplied trailer.

Anyhoo; what you see in this photo is a view from our back porch, looking out toward the, uh, “lawn”. Now, in Aruba (which is essentially a desert island), water is incredibly expensive, so growing grass was pretty much out of the question unless you had the water budget of a large hotel. However, as you can see, we still had plenty of bushes and trees to liven up the place and give it that homey quality. Bananas, papayas, limes; it was a fruit-lover’s paradise, I’m tellin’ ya!

However, all wasn’t sweetness and light, mind you. One drawback to livin’ on a Caribbean island are the (ugh!) ever-present iguanas. Them critters are pretty much everywhere – especially around where people live. I remember once laying out my towel on the beach at the Marriott (anyone can use any beach; it’s a law), and having an attendant quickly run up and warn me against laying on the sand. Doing so, it seemed, would likely result in an iguana tiptoeing across my tummy! They highly recommended using one of the zillions of chaise lounges to elevate my body off the sand. Apparently, iguana claws can cause some serious cuts!

Like I said, iguanas were everywhere, and our backyard was no exception. But they weren’t the only animals wandering around. Oh, no! There are herds of wild burros wandering around, checking out the trashcans whenever they can. (In fact, heaven help you if you didn’t chain your trash can lids down on trash day. You’ll be wandering around for hours tryin’ to find ‘em otherwise, ’cause those sneaky burros know how to knock the lids off  of the cans. Then, of course, the wind’ll blow the lids down the street for blocks!) Oh, and not to mention scads of loose dogs and cats…

Trouble Approaches

One day, Mrs. MZM happened to observe this little drama playing out in the yard. If you look closely just to the left of center in the photo, you’ll notice that horizontal line there. It’s an iguana, about three feet long. And, just to the right of him, about three or four feet away, is a cat. Although it looks like he’s unaware of the approaching lizard, he was actually sorta watching the iguana approach out of the corner of his eye, while pretending he hadn’t a care in the world.

Now think about it for a moment, won’t you? Here’s this… well, living dinosaur approaching, and the cat sits there, pretending there’s no problem! I mean, I’ve always considered cats to be pretty smart critters, but maybe this particular cat really IS stupid, y’know?

So lemme ask ya: If that iguana and cat ever get together, who do you think will be the most likely winner of that particular battle of wills? Yup; my money’s on the lizard.

Plan Ahead!

Yep; trouble is like that. If you see it comin’, you’d best do something about it before it arrives. You know why? Because once trouble has dropped in, you’re likely gonna be a mite too busy to decide what to do then, y’know? Far better if you make your important decisions ahead of time.

Just sayin’.

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Photos:

Who’s Stalking Who, Anyway? by Robert Hruzek

Who’s Stalking Who, Anyway? Detail

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Can a tiny little bit of resentment really be all that bad? I mean, it’s so small, and that – well, let’s call it anger ’cause that’s what it really is – is just a lil’ tiny thing, ain’t it? Besides, sometimes holding a little anger in can be kinda delicious, can’t it?

But over the years I’ve come to realize that no matter how teeny tiny that anger starts out, it can still have an amazing grip on my heart. Here’s what I mean…

Lord of My Domain

There’s just something about owning your own home, you know? Please forgive me if I come across as all that, y’all. I dunno; maybe it’s a sortof “lord of your domain” kind of thing when you “own” a patch of God’s green Earth for yourself, y’know?

Anyhoo – I derive a certain satisfaction standing on my front porch, looking out over the small patch of land I owe so much money on own. Having performed this exercise more than a few times, I’ve gotten rather familiar with my own property. What’s more, it’s pretty easy to tell when there’s something not quite right. A disturbance in the force, perhaps? An object that didn’t belong?

Suddenly I spotted the offensive element – right at my feet! Oh, the horror! There in my front garden – right next to the walk where any visitor could see it – was a (sound of terrified scream) weed! Well, it really wasn’t all that big. In fact, it was only about 2 inches tall. But set against our dark brown mulch, the bright green leaves made it easy to see.

OK; now you’re probably thinkin’ to yourself, What the heck is the big deal? I mean, it’s only a weed, right? I mean, it’s not like it was a triffid or anything. And you’d be correct up to a point. After all, when you have a garden, finding a weed here and there is pretty much a given. (Find a triffid, on the other hand, and you’d better run for your life! Just sayin’.)

Anyway, I did what any self-respecting homeowner woulda done: I reached down to gently, er, rip the little booger outta the ground (you have to do it just right or you don’t get the roots out, you know), only to find… the darned thing wouldn’t budge! Harumph.

Now, that kinda surprised me, since this particular weed was so small. I mean, how deep could the roots be, anyway? And how strong? After all, I’m a big, giant man – and I’m ‘waaay stronger than any puny little ol’ weed! So I bent down, got a better grip on the weed’s stem, and started pulling, gently but firmly. With fairly steady pressure, it would eventually let go.

At first, nothing happened. Finally, I saw it slowly coming loose. The only thing was, a surprisingly large patch of the garden was coming up with it! My eyebrow lifted in a remarkable imitation of Mr. Spock, and I’m almost sure I heard the word, “Fascinating” in the whisper of the breeze.

Sheesh, I thought, what’s this thing wrapped around? Those dang roots must be down somewhere near China! I had visions of unearthing a misplaced treasure chest filled with lost pirate’s gold or something. And now I had to pull that out along with the offending weed.

Finally, I got it completely out of the ground, and was rewarded with my Catch of the Day: a two-inch weed attached to a big clump of dirt – and a four-inch piece of wood! I’m tellin’ ya; that weed wasn’t gonna give up without a fight!

Anyway, having come out the victor in this particular battle of wills, I sneered in my best Jimmy Cagney impression, “Nyah; thought ya had me, ya little weasel! But I showed ya who was boss here, didn’t I! Nyah!” (Hey, sometimes I gotta be my own entertainment.)

Needless to say, that little weed never stood a chance against someone as big as me (not that I’m, er, big, mind you!) But what surprised me was the way the roots of that little guy managed to get such a good grip on that piece of wood – not to mention the sizable clump of dirt it brought out with it.

The thing is, roots can be like that, can’t they? They work their way into the tiniest of crevices in dirt, rocks or whatever, and can be heck to completely get out. And wow, they can have quite the deathgrip, if you know what I mean.

The Root of Bitterness

There’s an interesting statement in the Bible (actually, it’s in Hebrews, chapter 12, verse 15, if you care to look it up) that uses a word-picture combination that has always stuck with me. Here’s the verse:

See to it that no one comes short of the grace of God; that no root of bitterness springing up causes trouble, and by it many be defiled…

… and the words of interest are right there in the middle: root of bitterness.

What’s a root of bitterness, you may ask? Well, it’s a fair question. A root of bitterness is what the writer of Hebrews calls that little, angry, resentful feeling you get when you don’t like bein’ disciplined for your own good.

Remember when you were a little kid, and you did something stupid, or wrong, or mean? Chances are good that your parents, or your teacher (or hopefully someone appropriate) laid some discipline on ya, right? It happens all the time, even when we’re grown up, too.

Everywhere we turn, life, the universe, and everything tends to discipline us when we do stuff that’s out of line, doesn’t it? Oh, it might not be right away. I mean, you may think you’re getting away with it. But I’m tellin’ ya; sooner or later, she all comes home to roost, if you get my meanin’.

Here’s where the rubber meets the road, though. If you’re still teachable (hopefully that includes you!), then that discipline actually serves to make you a better person. But if you’re not… well, you may just end up a bitter, angry person. Hey, you know it’s true, right?

I find the choice of those particular words “root of bitterness” fascinating, don’t you? It describes perfectly what’s happening down inside your heart. Even the tiniest bit of anger, just like that tiny little weed, can get quite a grip on the fabric of your soul. Once there, it can be pretty tough to root out, y’know?

What to do? Well, it’s pretty simple, really. Just deal with whatever the situation is that caused the anger. And whatever you do – don’t  let it fester or it’ll get worse! Roots have a way of growin’ deep when you ignore ‘em. I’m just sayin.

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Photo: Tiny weed, by bishib70

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[Note from the Proprietor: In addition to being my entry for this month's What I Learned From... groupwrite project, today's post was also prompted by an interview I had the other day with my favorite journalist (and, in fact, the only one I know personally), Anita Bruzzese. I was featured in an article Anita wrote for the Salt Lake Tribune. Tip o' the hat, Anita! I'm lookin' forward to my 15 seconds of fame. Although... come to think of it, I'd rather be remembered for something wonderful instead of, y'know, this!]

Hey, if you’re like me (sound of terrified screaming), you’ve had your share of embarrassing moments. Or even worse, maybe some outright shameful ones – y’know, the ones you’d rather not ever see the light of day again, right?

Ah, but what are such episodes in one’s life without (c’mon, say it with me, y’all) lessons learned? For instance…

My First Real Job

‘Waay back in 1974, I got my first real job working as a draftsman in a large engineering firm here in Houston.

[Further note from the Proprietor: By "real", I mean a job other than slingin' ice cream at the local Dairy Doodle, or takin' tickets (or pouring sodas) at the Funtastic 4 multi-cinema. Not that there's anything wrong with those - or any job - mind you; but let's face it, how many folks expect to choose those occupations as a lifetime career? Not many! (And a big ol' hat tip to those who do!)]

Anyway, it was my first experience with “9-to-5″ type employment, y’know? With all of my previous jobs, bein’ the sort of jobs they were, the working hours tended to be somewhat variable, if you get my meanin’. But this time, I was finally up there with the adults! It was a heady feeling, I’ll tell ya!

Unlike the current economic climate (where jobs are a mite harder to come by), back then, most firms were hirin’ to beat the band, and there simply weren’t enough bodies to go around. So although I didn’t know it (bein’ my first real job and all), it was really a great time to get into the business. Lucky for me, as it turned out.

9 to 5? (sound of laughing)

The horsefly in the pudding, as far as I was concerned, was the fact that my imagined “9-to-5″ working hours actually started at 7 AM – in the morning! (sound of groaning) Yeesh, can you believe it? I mean, who in their right mind was up at that ungodly hour of the day, anyway?

That’s when I discovered the Ugly Truth about the engineering biz: here in the Central Time Zone (of the U.S.), they ALL started work at 7 am. BUT (and that’s a BIG ‘but’) over in the Eastern Time Zone, they started at 8 am. That way, companies with offices in both time zones could work the “same” hours. (Man, who knew? I immediately started plotting to move East.)

Now, having just recently abandoned college life (where I did my best to avoid classes before 10 am), I have to admit, getting up around 5 am, driving to work, and showing up bright and shiny at 7 am was just downright ridiculous! In fact, during my first three months at the new job, I got to work late more often than I care to count. It was a tough adjustment, I’ll tell ya, and I was, um, less than enthusiastic about it, to say the least.

The thing is, I really didn’t see anything all that wrong with showin’ up a little late every now and then, y’know? I mean after all, I showed up, did my work, and otherwise earned my keep. Hey, I felt like they should have been happy with that, at least!

Gimmie a Break!

Question: Have you ever felt like maybe the world owed you a break? Yup; thought so. Don’t worry; you’re not alone. I think we all go through this stage at some time or another. The smart ones grow out of it. (The rest grow up on welfare. Or sumpin’. Just sayin’.)

The thing was, all during those first three months (and totally missed by oblivious little ol’ me) was the fact that someone really was payin’ attention to all those late morning arrivals. And when it came time for my first job performance review (sound of really terrified scream), well Bubba, those bad habits kinda sorta all came home to roost, if you get my meanin’.

See, because business was so strong at that time, raises were pretty regular things. And it wasn’t unusual for an new employee’s first raise to be a real humdinger, y’know? I’d heard that some were getting as much as 40-50% increases for their first raise (really!), and I was expecting good things.

So, when my boss and I sat down in that little room to talk things over, I wasn’t too concerned. I remember thinkin’ something along the lines of, Hey, it’s only a review, right? Who cares what they thought about me? Just show me the money, Bubba!

Well… I think you can see where this is goin’, right? As you may have surmised by now, I was in for a rather rude awakening!

Time to Face the Music

As my boss worked his way through the review (hey, who decided to call these things “reviews”, anyway? They’re more like Judgments From Above!), I suddenly realized all was not as peachy-keen as I had so blithely thought. In fact, as he proceeded to point out all the late mornings and “slow starts”, it was startin’ to sound kinda, well, dire, if you follow me.

In fact, it almost sounded like… well, the prelude to getting fired!

Yikes! Suddenly, memories of all those times I hit the “snooze” button on the alarm clock that “one more time” hit me smack-dab between the eyes. I’d just had my first encounter with Real Life, and I’m tellin’ ya folks; I didn’t like it one bit! No sirree!

The kicker was when he showed me how much of a raise I had coming. (Just shows how badly they needed people – they actually didn’t fire me!) How much was it, you ask? Well, lemme get ya a cup of coffee first. (sound of pouring cup) Now, about that raise… actually, that coffee was the raise! Seriously; after taxes, what was left was not quite equivalent to a cup of coffee a day!

Three Hard Truths about the World of Work

As I walked staggered back to my desk, for the first time in my young, inexperienced existence I realized several hard truths about Real Life and the World of Work, among which are:

I Was Being Watched – Yep; I found out the hard way. Everyone in the firm is probably watching you, all the time. It’s far too easy to think those “little things” (whatever they are) will either be missed, get overlooked, or don’t really matter. But in fact, they can add up to quite a large “thing”, if you get my meanin’. These days, you can’t afford to slack off a bit; unfortunately, when the firm you’re workin’ for is lookin’ for reasons to let someone go, they’ll all come out in the wash – and then where will the leg you were attempting to stand on be? Somewhere outside the front door, no doubt.

I Had to Police Myself – I admit; this shoulda come as a “no-brainer”! (And by that I don’t mean one with no brain!) When you get right down to it, the one responsible for your actions is that person starin’ right back at ya in the mirror each morning. Not your boss, or your mother, or your spouse, best friend, or mentor, either. Nope; only you are responsible for you. So suck it up and do the things you know you’re supposed to be doin’! It’s that simple. Besides, as unpleasant as it may be to face the truth and straighten yourself out, it’s far better than havin’ someone else do it for you! Trust me.

I Had to Choose – It was a sobering fact, but after thinking about what I’d just been through, I realized something very important. The company didn’t want to fire me! (That actually costs them money.) Before I was ready to jump for joy at that revelation, though, I carried the thought a bit further. Suddenly I understood: they were sorta “encouraging” me to leave the company on my own. So it was time to choose: make a change – or move on.

Y’know, if all goes well, there comes a time in everyone’s life when they truly realize what they get out of life is a direct result of what they put into it. Oh, sure; it can be a pretty rough lesson on occasion. But it’s all the more rewarding for havin’ learned it, I’ll tell ya! And as for me – well, this was that moment.

The Choice

I knew I had a choice – the easy way or the hard way: to relax, accept a mediocre lifestyle, and go find somewhere else to play – or straighten up my act and become the person I needed to be. It was a simple, clear choice, and I had no illusions; it had to be made!

OK, by now you’re wonderin’ which way did ya go, right? Well, wonder no more: I chose the hard way.

Yep; I actually knuckled down and started showing up for work on time, every day. I did my work with renewed vigor and interest, learning as much as I could, from whoever I could find to teach it.

And never again did I assume anything about how the boss perceived my performance! I learned to ask for feedback at critical junctures, such as when completing an assignment or meeting a deadline. In fact, I finally began to act like a valuable employee.

All that work paid off, too. By the time the next review rolled around, I actually got the raise I should have had the first time – had I,um, deserved it, of course. And it’s a lesson that’s stayed with me for a long, long time; I daresay it’s even become a lifestyle.

The truth is, I’d really rather forget about this particular incident. But hey, sometimes ya just gotta own up, y’know? (Well; let’s scratch that word “sometimes” and put in “always”, OK?) Besides, I learned a powerful lesson I’ll never forget. And hey, ain’t that the best kind?

Spotlight On… YOU!

So what about you? Have you ever learned something from an embarrassing, shameful moment that frankly, you’d just as soon forget ever happened? You don’t necessarily have to give details (not like me, anyway!) but if it’s something you think we can all learn from, then dare to share, why don’cha?

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[Even further note from the proprietor: I'd like to send some appreciation Anita's way for using my story in her article, so to speak. Y'all do me a favor won't you? Would ya drop by and read Anita's article in the Salt Lake Tribune? And send your friends there, too! They'll see the incoming visits. Hey, a tip o' the hat to ya!]

[And yet another note from the proprietor: As I mentioned at the top there, this is my entry for this month's What I Learned From... groupwrite project. It's still open for entries, and we'd love to have you join us. Just follow this link and read all about it! We're accepting entries through Sunday night, July 12. Just sayin'.]

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Have you ever been flying? Well I have!

And not just in airliners; I’ve had an adventure or two while taking flying lessons in a small plane a while back (see Fear of Flying). Besides, that’s not that big a deal, right? Lots of folks have floated above ol’ Terra Firma in everything from hot air balloons to spacecraft

But I’m not talking about flying in an airplane - or actually, a flying machine of any kind. No, I actually learned to fly ‘waaaay sooner than that! In fact, I was still just a kid.

The Summer

To be honest, I really can’t remember how old I was at the time; seems like I must have been somewhere around 10 or 11; maybe as old as 12. Back then, we lived in the town of Bellaire, one of the many small cities that exist like a seed within an orange, completely inside the boundaries of the huge city of Houston, Texas.

Anyway, this was during the summer, when kids of all ages spend their summer vacations just doin’… well, in my case, a whole lotta nuthin’. But it was a fun lotta nuthin’, that’s for sure, especially with the herd of boys I ran around with.

Lessee now… what did we do, anyway? Well, we hung out in the big, empty, corner lot down the street, where, among other things, we built several big wooden platforms high up in the boughs of the largest trees. (Mine was always the highest one because at the time I was the ‘lightest’ kid. Not necessarily the smallest one; just think: very, very thin.)

We also discovered how to make and use an old-world sling (slingshot) like David (of David and Goliath fame). I’m tellin’ ya; it was astonishing how far a rock would go with one of those things! One kid accidentally (no, really!) knocked out a school window over a hundred yards away. Who knew it would go that far! (He ‘fessed up, though. It was one of those times when, even though it got him into trouble, the truth was so spectacular he had to tell it.)

Oh, and I’ll never forget an afternoon spent playing “base-bee”. It’s sorta like baseball, except… well, here’s how it worked. You find a big, blooming wisteria bush and position yourself about 30 feet away. Then you entice bumblebees to fly at you by throwing big rocks into the bush. A bee would note the direction the rock came from (how they did that was anybody’s guess) and immediately come flyin’ out, right towards you. Meantime, you’re holding a board (sorta like a cricket bat), and, at the last minute, you neatly sidestep the oncoming bee and whap! The poor hapless bee would go flyin’ away like a home run knocked outta the park! (Oh, did I mention I was both young – and stupid?)

And then there was the aforementioned Day I Went Flying.

The Hill

One of our favorite activities (when we got tired of doing the above) was go exploring on our bicycles. Hey, if I could add it up now, I bet we rode our bikes for thousands of miles! Seriously. So when the mood struck us, we’d travel far and wide without hesitation – or at least as far and wide as a pre-teen kid could, anyway.

Now, this was back in the days when Houston was building some of the first major freeways around town, including what is now the Loop 610 and I- 59 intersection. (It’s one of the busiest freeway interchanges in Houston these days, but I was there when it was first bein’ built.)

Naturally, in order to build the overpasses necessary for such a major interchange, they needed lots of, well, giant piles of dirt. And, as we all know, giant piles of dirt – hills, really – had the power to attract small boys with about the same inevitability with which Anakin Skywalker was attracted to the Dark Side.

Anyhoo, on this particular day, the most enterprising of our number expressed the following thought out loud: “Gee, I wonder how fast you would go if you rode a bicycle down the side of one of those hills? Wow, it would be kinda like riding down the Hill of Doom!”

Instantly, the whole herd of us became embroiled in a lively debate on the relative merits of such a stupendous idea. The phrase, “Wow, that would be fantastic!” was heard, along with various other, less enthusiastic responses, such as “You’d be goin’ a million miles an hour at least!”, “I don’t think it would work,” or “You wouldn’t get me to do it!”

By the time the dust settled, though, I think the general consensus settled into something along the lines of, “You’d probably kill yourself, you idiot!”

The Dare

As you know, in any random group of folks there’s bound to be someone who fits the category of “will do anything on a dare”, right? Alas, it’s also true that groups of kids tend to have a somewhat larger than average share of ‘em. (Probably because they haven’t lived long enough to fear spending the rest of their days in a wheelchair.)

So, as we looked around at each other, wonderin’ who would be the first to actually do it, our eyes turned towards the oldest one of us to blaze the trail. (I had secretly sworn to myself that it would most certainly not be me!) You had to admire him, though; pushed into a corner and realizing the inevitability of the situation, he bravely accepted the challenge – if not wholeheartedly, then at least willingly. (Besides, there’s no pressure like peer pressure, is there?)

The rest of us arrayed ourselves at the bottom, each silently making bets as to whether or not he’d survive the ordeal. We watched as he laboriously climbed up the hill, pushing his bicycle all the way. (Have you ever tried to walk up one of those things? They’re really steep!) Finally, he reached the top. He took a few minutes to regain his breath, then settled himself firmly onto the seat. Time seemed to stand still as he stood poised at the brink of the precipice. We held our collective breath as he leaned forward…

It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen in my entire young life!

The Plunge

He quickly gathered speed – literally flying down the hill like a lightning bolt and hangin’ on for dear life. I don’t remember if he screamed or not (he was probably too terrified to do anything but hold on), but I can tell you for sure the rest of us were enthusiastically shouting for all we were worth!

After zinging by us like a rocket sled on steroids, he finally managed to slow down and turn around. Pedaling back our way, he took a well-deserved victory turn around our little band of brothers like the champion he was that day. It was stupendous! It was amazing! I’m tellin’ ya; it was the best day ever!

Once the celebration died down, though, the discussion got down to who was going to be next. Some kids absolutely refused to do it at all. But for some strange reason, I found myself volunteering for the job. I truly don’t exactly know why I decided to try it (believe me when I tell you I wasn’t the most daring of souls – then or now), but I soon found myself up there at the top of the hill.

It’s amazing how looking up a certain distance never seems as far as looking down the same distance. Although it didn’t seem quite so far when I was at the bottom of the hill, the view from up at the top looked like it was about a million miles down. From this height I could see all my friends arrayed like little ants – no, wait; those were ants – but my friends appeared really, really small as well.

Yeesh, what had I gotten myself into? I mentally promised never to volunteer for anything, ever again. (Who knows, maybe that’s why I never joined the Army.)

The Choice

Standing up there, facing impending doom and practically certain I was about to breathe my last, I realized there were only three – no, only four possible outcomes.

1. I could choose NOT to do it. Yep; I could have just said the heck with it (when I was a kid, heck was the absolute worst word I could think to use in these situations) and walked back down the hill, to the inevitable catcalls and razzing of the other boys – from then until the end of time. It was a tough choice; on the one hand, I’d probably never live the ignoble episode down. On the other hand, at least I’d be, y’know, alive.
2. I could ride down the hill, killing myself in the process. Yeah, it was pretty easy to imagine all sorts of dire things happening on my way down the mountain: the wheel could fall off, my seat could come loose, I could get a foot caught in the chain… with the inevitable result: I’d tumble off the bicycle and roll endlessly downhill, to wind up a horribly mangled pile of pulp. (Imagination is easy to a kid, you know.) Oh, well, at least they would be able to talk about how brave I was there at the funeral. Small consolation, that.
3. I could ride down the hill and live to tell the tale. Way down there near the bottom of my mental list of possible – no, better make that probable – outcomes, there was the slightest chance I could actually do this thing. I’ll tell ya; I had to squint pretty hard to see it, but there it was. I knew if I could do this, I’d really have something to talk about among my peers. I could visualize myself, a giant among men (or at least, boys), one who could always point to this incident and say, “No, I’m not going to wrestle that giant man-eating cobra, saving that gorgeous babe in the process and earning her everlasting appreciation – but at least I rode down that hill on my bicycle back when we were kids!” To which they would always have to shuffle their feet in remembered shame because they, y’know, didn’t.
4. I could be killed by a falling meteor. I know, I know. Besides, even a billion-to-one chance was at least a chance, right? At least I’d go out in a blaze of glory.

Anyway, since I obviously lived to relate this sordid tale, then neither #2 or #4 happened. So which option did I choose, you ask? Well, it’s like this…

The Flight

Yessir, ladies and gentlemen, I actually did muster up what little courage I had and (sound of terrified scream) down the hill I went! I must’ve broken the sound barrier within moments, the wind howling so loud past my ears I couldn’t hear a thing. The pedals spun around so fast they became invisible, and I had to just lift my feet up, gripping the bicycle with only my hands and my, er, butt cheeks. (You’d be surprised how effective that can be – particularly when your butt’s continued existence depended upon it!)

I was at the bottom within a matter of seconds (perhaps six, or maybe seven at most), and microseconds before I got there, I realized something important. The one thing I hadn’t thought about was that sudden transition from down to horizontal. It looked… well, kinda abrupt, if you get my meanin’. I mean, there were probably a few places I could have selected that had a somewhat smoother curve to ‘em, but if so, well, the spot I was gonna hit wasn’t one of ‘em!

No, in my case the bicycle (and, of course, me too) changed direction so fast it compressed my whole body down onto the bicycle seat far enough to flatten the seat’s springs. (Good thing it had a thick metal plate in it; things might’ve been pretty unpleasant otherwise!)

Now, you’re probably familiar enough with the expression, “what goes up, must come down”, right? Well, my friends; I can tell you – and from personal experience, yet  – the opposite is also true: “what goes down, must come up”!

Yep; when all that downward energy was released, it literally catapulted my body upward in such a way that I suddenly became airborne! Luckily (and probably the only reason I’m still able to talk about it today), I barely – just barely, mind you – managed to hang onto the handlebars.

The surprising result was that, instead of completely wiping out, for a spectacular few seconds I executed a rather incredible handstand over the handlebars as I zinged past my stunned audience. Then, in a Grand Finale performance worthy of Cirque du Soleil, my butt neatly plopped right back down on the bicycle seat! It happened so quickly – and smoothly – it was as if I’d planned the whole thing all along. I’ll tell ya; there’s no doubt in my mind my Guardian Angel was workin’ overtime that day!

Folks, that was one of the most frightening – and exhilarating – events of my life (and that includes the time I accidentally answered a, uh, former girlfriend’s question, “Do these pants make me look fat?”) I’m almost sure my heart stopped beating as soon as I left the top of the hill. I’m positive I didn’t take another breath until I was able to start braking down to a speed that was something less than insane.

The Challenge

So what does careening uncontrollably down the Hill of Doom on a bicycle – nearly meeting my Maker in the process – have to do with life, anyway? Well, it’s sorta like this.

There’s no doubt about it, y’all. These days, folks all over are facing things they’ve never had to face before. It’s like they’re tearing along in one direction, then – maybe even through no plan or fault of their own – they suddenly changed direction and found themselves launched headlong into space! What’s more, they’re so busy lookin’ for a soft place to land, they haven’t even got time to figure out what to do.

I’ll tell ya, friends; I’ve been there more times than I want to remember!

So here’s your Questions for the Day:

What do you do when you inadvertently go flyin’ into the wild blue yonder? What can you do? How do you handle it when something comes along that literally takes the planet right out from under you? Can you truly prepare for the unknowable?

C’mon, what do you think?

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Photo: untitled, by Jon Hanson

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I’ll tell ya; I was watching the national (U.S.) news last week, and I couldn’t help but stare in awestruck wonder (sorta like the same way you just can’t tear your eyes away from a train wreck) by the absolutely ridiculous linguistic gyrations being paraded out for us by a supposedly smart woman. Now c’mon, y’all; wasn’t that the most insultingly convoluted attempt at circumlocution you’ve ever seen? (It’s funny how dangerous things always travel in packs, ain’t it? Lessee… there’s a pack of wolves, a pack of cigarettes… oh, and a pack of lies..)

Why is it, I wondered, when we do something dumb, the very first impulse always seems to be something along the lines of ‘at all costs, avoid responsibility and deny everything’?

But forget about U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (who has now managed to usurp Bill Clinton’s spot as the poster child for that sort of thing) and the big, giant pickle she’s gotten herself into, I actually asked that question because of something that happened to yours truly the other day.

In fact, the reason this subject comes up at all is, well, I guess the best thing is to go ahead and confess to it right up front: My name is Robert, and I’m a (sound of anguished scream) cookie-killer. Go ahead, bring on the handcuffs; I’ll go quietly, officer.

See, it was like this…

It’s Snackin’ Time!

The other evening, Mrs. MZM and I were winding down from a rather strenuous day of… well, whatever the heck we do all day. Now, we’d just snuggled into our favorite spot on the couch when she looked up at me and said “Want something?”

I knew what she meant, of course. After all, when you’ve been married for 27 years, spending that much time together means at least some of our conversations have been honed down to a nub, if you get my meanin’. My stomach, knowing exactly what she meant, immediately perked up and gronked in reply.

After a brief discussion of the options (no need to repeat it here; our brand of shortspeak probably wouldn’t make all that much sense to you anyway) the judge’s decision, by a considerable margin, was: cookies!

Now don’t get me wrong, y’all; “having” cookies around our house ain’t that easy! I mean, it’s not like our pantry is loaded up with the things. And we’ve never been a big fan of those store-bought packages, either – none of those pre-baked, vacuum-bagged pretenders for us! (Mrs. MZM requires me to mention one exception: Girl Scout Thin Mints.)

Nope; around our house, when thoughts turn to cookies, we have to actually, y’know, bake ‘em ourselves. Well, to be honest – something we always strive for here at the Zone – we use those pre-made cookie dough things you keep in the fridge and just pop on a cookie sheet. Hey, we’re not total purists around here; too much work.

Anyhoo – hey, we have cookie-preparation down to a science around here: preheat the oven, carefully place the little doughballs (chocolate chip for the Mrs., and Oatmeal Raisin for me – both enhanced with a touch of cinnamon) on a cookie sheet, pop ‘em in the oven, set the timer, and… wait.

(That last is always the hardest part, isn’t it? The delicious smell of cinnamon quickly grows so powerful, by the time they’re actually ready to eat you’re practically gnawing on the furniture.)

The Call of the Wild (Cookie, that is)

Finally (!) that little timer thing on the oven lets off with it’s characteristic (and by the way, quite annoying) electronic signal. C’mon, admit it – it’s sorta like the Call of the Wild, ain’t it? And just like Pavlov’s dogs, at the sound of the tone my mouth instantly began watering in anticipation as I catapulted outta the couch like I was launched from an aircraft carrier calmly stood up and went to the kitchen to retrieve our little golden delights (surreptitiously smoothing over those unsightly chew marks on the sofa).

Here’s where the crucial event occurs. (Better gird your loins for this, folks; it ain’t pretty.)

I picked up a hot pad, opened the oven door (while inhaling the sweet, delicious aroma of hot, fresh-baked cookies – YUM!), grabbed a corner of the piping hot cookie sheet, pulled ‘em out of the oven, and proceeded to dump the whole shebang – cookie-side down, mind you – smack dab on the floor!

WHAP!

The sharp metallic sound of metal on tile reverberated around the kitchen for a few moments, then… a stunned silence filled the void. (Insert moment of stunned silence here.)

Yeah, I know; you’re probably as shocked I was at this appalling turn of events. I’m tellin’ ya; my heart just about stopped! It was an absolute travesty. It was criminal. It was… like in that movie The Day the Earth Stood Still, when the Earth, y’know, stood still. I half expected to look up and see ol’ Gort shaking his big, metallic head in dismay as he prepared to laser me into oblivion.

After about 5 seconds of this, Mrs. MZM’s voice wafted gently in from the other room, an ominous tone clearly detectable: “Did what I think happen – just happen?”

Uh-oh.

My panicky brain started to flounder as the connection between it and my tongue momentarily broke down. For a few seconds, the recurring phrase sense of impending doom was the only thing that circled through my poor befuddled mind. The flight reflex instinctively rose from its deep, dark lair, while sweat began to bead upon my troubled brow.

To top it off – and I kid you not – I distinctly remember thinking, Now, how can I plausibly claim, ‘It’s not my fault’?

Time to Pay the Piper

OK, rhetorical question here (which does not mean something Rhett Butler would have asked):

Have you ever done something stupid? Oh, I’m not just talkin’ about murdering a tray of poor, defenseless cookies; I mean, have you ever done something dumb and then immediately thought to yourself, Now how on Earth could I have ever done such a bone-headed thing?

No; no need to raise your hand or anything. I’d say the chance of anyone NOT pulling a boner at least once in their lifetime is roughly on the order of, well, that of ol’ Adam and Eve convincing God it “wasn’t them” who took the apple off that Tree of Life . After all, who else could it have been, y’know?

But what surprised me most was that little reflex thought that scampered through my brain. In spite of the clear and undisputable facts, right? I mean, there was no way I could deny that it was, y’know, my fault. The evidence, after all, was right there on the floor for all to see. (OK, it was just me and Mrs. MZM – and no, there is no, er, surviving photographic evidence.) There was absolutely no way to credibly deny it was me, and me only, that did the low-down dirty deed.

So what did I do? Well, own up, of course! Hey, I just never quite got a good grip on the edge of the cookie sheet as I lifted it out of the oven, with the inevitable result. End of story.

Almost.

The Rest of the Story

OK, by now you’re probably wondering if I’ve been sent up the river to do hard time by a jury of my peers, and I’m writin’ this post with a little tiny stub of a No.2 pencil on a long sheet of toilet paper smuggled into my dingy cell. So what sentence, you’re sayin’ to yourself, did Mrs. MZM throw at you for ruining a perfectly good snack?

Actually, she was remarkably cool and collected about the whole thing. (I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: What a woman!) In fact, after collecting the bodies of the dear departed and sharing a moment of silence (not to mention a tear or two), she even helped me clean up the mess. Later, humor – and practicality – won out, of course: we immediately baked another batch.

This time, I offered to let her retrieve ‘em from the oven, but she just shook her beautiful head and smiled. “Ya gotta get back on that horse,” she said with a smile – and a hint of steel.

But I have to say, it was a remarkably interesting lesson. And if – no, make that when – you do something like I did – something that just ain’t right – c’mon, just admit it and move on! I mean, how hard a lesson can it be, right? It’s a simple one, to be sure; easy to say, too. And after all, you’d think anyone with even an ounce of sense woulda figured that out before the age of five.

But I’ll tell ya; every time I watch the news these days, it becomes obvious there are some folks – folks who definitely should know better – that just don’t seem to get it. The truth is, they ain’t foolin’ nobody.

All I can add is, don’t you choose to be like that. I’m just sayin’.

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Hey, quick question: Considering the economic climate we’re probably going to face over the next several years, what would you say is the one key ability we all need more than anything else?

To my mind (which admittedly is a very strange and interesting place), the one key ability you’re lookin’ for is the ability to be, at all times, alert. (Besides, the world needs more lerts, right? Bwa-ha-ha-ha! Er, sorry.)

Alert for what, you ask? Hey, I’m glad you asked! It’s because you never know when opportunity is gonna, y’know, knock.

OK, got it? Alert. Yup… always stay… y’know, alert.

Why Does the Chicken Cross the Road?

During my year in Aruba, there was this spot we frequently, er, frequented. (Humph; my spell checker says that’s actually a word – so who am I to argue?)

Anyway, it’s a sortof combination shopping mall/restaurant row in downtown Orangestad (Aruba’s Capital). It also happens to be one of the busier tourist areas of the island. The thing is, the best parking for that center also happens to be on the other side of the busiest street on the island.

Unfortunately, crossing this particular street during “rush” hours (well, as rushed as things gets in Aruba, anyway) is a difficult proposition at best. That’s because the traffic consists of a more-or-less continuous stream of cars at any time of day or night, filled with both commuters and tourists (along with the occasional gecko or two).

Luckily (or due to good planning – hard to believe, but you never know), there’s an actual pedestrian crosswalk with one of these familiar “walk/don’t walk” signs, similar to the one pictured here. Thus, when you want to cross the street, you simply push the button, wait a minute or two – and when that odd-lookin’ little man with no hands or feet lights up – ya cross the street.

Easy as pie! (But then again, how easy is pie, anyway?)

Now, with that kind of a straightforward, clearly defined, and easy to execute procedure available for getting’ across a road, hey, you’d think even a chicken someone as clueless ever-vigilant as yours truly would have, y’know, no problemo, right?

No Problemo!

Lemme just start off by sayin’… it’s not my fault! Honest! See, there were extenuating circumstances…

First of all, workin’ in the engineering business as I do, the concern for one’s personal safety – both on AND off the job – is absolutely paramount. (That’s no joke, y’all; it’s an extremely serious and sensitive issue.) That means when in a plant environment, we have to pretty much live and breathe safety or things could turn, well, dicey rather quickly, if you get my meanin’.

Therefore, one of the primary things you learn in an industrial environment is Bubba, ya better watch where you put your feet! And for most of us in the biz, that sorta thinking is pretty much ingrained, y’know? So naturally, I tend to keep at least one eye on the ground when I’m walkin’ in unfamiliar territory. Gotta watch for debris, holes, and in Aruba’s case, little (and occasionally, BIG) scaly critters and stuff, y’know.

Another important detail is the fact that in Aruba, it’s always a windy day! And believe me, the winds are pretty much non-stop. That’s cause bein’ that close to the Equator (about 8º N Latitude) means the island is subject to what sailors call the Trade winds.

Now, because of that – and this is crucial – I couldn’t wear my trademark cowboy hat. (If I had, it would no doubt have ended up in Venezuela.) And so (yes, I finally got around to makin’ my point) I had to settle for a regular ol’ baseball cap instead. I know, I know; sad, but true.

And as the final piece in this particular tale – see, there was this, um, hole…

The Challenge

As I crossed the street, ol’ eagle-eyes here noticed that right there, right where the painted crosswalk ended and where the support pole for that crossing sign was, there was a big giant hole, right there in the sidewalk! Yikes!

Sure enough, my safety-aware brain immediately lasered right in on that sucker like a guided missile. I said to myself, Now that’s an accident waiting to happen! I could easily imagine some poor unsuspecting shlub tourist, paying little or no attention to where he was going, and stepping right into it. Possibly even spraining an ankle – or worse.

Anyway, as my highly-trained mind began to plot alternate routes around the danger, it immediately presented me with two alternatives: Option one: I could step to the right of the hole. Or option two: step to the left. Simple, huh? (Honestly, sometimes the solution can be that simple! He said.)

But my brain didn’t stop there! Oh, nooooo – that would have been ‘waaaay too easy! Instead, that big ol’ gelatinous mass of little grey cells up there under the hat forged rapidly ahead, quickly evaluating the available choices.

Choose Wisely

First up, option #1 – stepping to the right. A survey of the area quickly revealed this path would add several extra steps to my journey (hey, it was a big hole). Near panic ensued. Good heavens! Extra expenditure of energy? Based upon that analysis, this was, um, a less than optimum choice, to say the least.

Now on to option #2 – stepping to the left. At first blush, this path also seemed a bit hazardous, because it would force me to come a bit closer to the light pole (the one the aforementioned pedestrian crossing sign was mounted on). But still, there appeared to be adequate space between pole and hole. I decided I could easily navigate that without too much trouble. And besides (he said, blithely), anyone can dodge a pole, right?

Anyhoo – after extensively evaluating the two alternatives (all this happened within milliseconds, mind you), I made my decision (sound of a slot machine hitting three-of-a-kind) and chose option #2.

Forge Ahead

Now, having settled upon a viable plan, I adjusted my path slightly so it would take me between the pole and the hole. (Gee, that sounds almost poetic, doesn’t it?) I kept one eye focused on the dangerous obstruction, while still keeping the other eye on traffic, passing pedestrians, and the occasional seagull surprise (after all, the Caribbean was just 50 feet away).

Approaching the curb, I made sure my footing was sound, stepping up lightly (well, as lightly as I can, anyway) and placed my left foot precisely where it needed to be – exactly equidistant between the pole and the hole (it’s starting to flow trippingly off the tongue now, isn’t it?) Everything was going exactly according to plan.

Along about now you’re probably thinkin’ to yourself, “I’m tellin’ ya; there’s got to be some fly in this here soup! Nothin’ this Bubba does ever goes that smoothly!”

School of (Resoundingly) Hard Knocks

Alas… you’d be right. Lemme just say that, in my lifelong quest to live up to the motto: Always Avoid Personal Responsibility, I blame the baseball cap.

See, just as I set my foot down in the proper spot, and because my head was looking down, and because I was wearing that baseball cap, and because of that annoying bill on the front of said hat that, y’know, mostly blocks the view of what’s above you… Well, my head hit the, shall we say, “unfortunately low” pedestrian crossing sign hanging off the pole! (sound of resounding whannnnng!)

Yup; you read it right – in my quest to safely avoid stepping in a hole, I hit the stupid sign with my head! And as an extra-special bonus, I hit it hard enough to see stars! (Ooh – lookit all the pretty colors!) Hey, about the only thing I can add is, it’s extremely lucky it was my head because there’s very little possibility of, y’know, major damage…

It wouldn’t have been so bad – except for, um, that amazingly loud WHAANNNNNGG! (sound of… well, you know). I mean, just about everybody within 100 feet of me heard it clearly, and turned to see me rebounding from my, er, close encounter. Sheesh, talk about embarrassing!

You know how, when you do something incredibly (and of course, publicly) stupid, sometimes the most prudent course is to act like nothing happened and just keep goin’ – while pretending you really meant to do that? Yup; it was sorta like that.

All I could do was keep walkin’ – pointedly ignoring the looks, the pointing, the suppressed giggles (not to mention the outright guffaws) goin’ on behind my back. I mean, what the hey, when you have no dignity left…

Anyway, the lesson learned (and I gotta tell ya; this was one lesson really driven home, uh, hard, if you get my meanin’) was pretty simple: Hey, no matter how important it may seem, don’t get so narrowly focused on that ‘thing’ that you lose track of everything else around you! I mean, you never know what delightful lesson the School of Hard Knocks has in store for ya…

Oh, and just so ya know – I just got notified by the NSoL (National Society of Lerts). Looks like I’m in.

OK, Enough About Me

So… have you ever tried so hard to be on the alert… but no matter how focused you thought you were, something (that in hindsight was absolutely obvious) waltzed right up and smacked you right upside the hatrack?

Has anything even remotely similar ever happened to you? C’mon, y’all; now’s your chance to come clean. Hey, we’re all friends here, right? (Er… just sorta ignore the fact that anything said on the Internet is, y’know, forever…)

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Photo: Aruba Hat, by Robert Hruzek

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