Very old joke:

Two ants are running across the top of a tissue box, and one of them asks the other, “Hey, why are we running so fast?”

The other one points down and says in exasperation, “Can’t you read? It says right here: ‘Tear Across Dotted Line’”

Consider… the Ant

(Oh sure; it’s a strange thought for a beautiful Christmas morning. But believe it or not, I’m going somewhere with this line of thought. Bear with me just a bit, if you would.)

Wouldn’t it be interesting to be able to really understand ants? Just think; you could discover first-hand how they work together, how they live, how they get from place to place. You’d finally know why ants always seem to walk single-file, how they can carry 10 times their own weight, and most importantly, how exactly can they find their way into just about anything! Just how do they do those crazy ant things they do so very well?

But wait a minute. How could you really understand an ant, anyway? I mean, how would you communicate with them – or even get their attention? And how would they know you wanted to talk? By what means would a human being really understand something so small, so… insignificant.

See, the problem is, not only are you unimaginably bigger than they are, but you don’t have much in common with them. Their lives are so much different from yours; I mean, it’s pretty much impossible to grasp.

How Could You Understand An Ant?

So what’s the best way for you to really understand ants? Well… there is one way I can think of: you could become an ant yourself!

Now, I’m not talking about just shrinking down to the size and shape of an ant. See, without changing who or what you are, your essence, if you will… well, that wouldn’t do at all. Not only would you miss out on a genuine ant’s point-of-view, but they’d know you weren’t really an ant – even if you had the outward appearance of one.

No, I mean actually becoming one; to somehow live life as an ant. You have to be able to experience exactly what the ant is going through firsthand, for only then could you hope to get a true ant’s perspective on things. Only then could you understand them. Only then could you communicate with them.

And only then could they truly understand and communicate with you.

Consider… God

A lot of people don’t really understand Christmas. I guess that comes as no surprise, considering how much glitz and hoopla fills the air for months ahead of the actual day. But all that, well, stuff, really does is make it easy to miss the real Christmas. C’mon, you know what I mean: the actual human birth of Jesus Christ.

That’s the thing folks have a hard time with. I mean, the very idea that God would send His own son, Jesus, to be born as a man, live as a man, and die as a man… well, it just doesn’t seem to make any sense.

But in fact, there was simply no other way for God to get our attention. There was no other way for us to know that God himself really wanted to talk to us; to have a relationship with us.

And there was no other way for Him to tell us – and even more importantly, for us to truly understand – that He loved us.

Today is Christmas Day; the day we Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, all over the world, and across virtually all cultures.

Isn’t it amazing? To think that even today, and for many people, that was just a seemingly insignificant event that happened long ago. But in truth, the implications of that day somehow transcend time and space, and can still touch us as powerfully today – if we’ll just allow it to.

If you’re interested in a relationship with the God of the Universe, then there’s where it starts – at the manger in Bethlehem.

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From the Editor: This post is a reprise of my Christmas Day 2007 post. It was just too good not to repeat.

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For a lot of folks, the Christmas Season begins right after Thanksgiving. That’s the way it is around our house, anyway. Yep, even the trees are gettin’ in on the act! Take a look at this leaf fallen from a Bradford Pear tree at my workplace. Pretty fine, eh?

So, what do y’all do to get ready for the Christmas Season? And more importantly, how do you celebrate it?

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Been to a museum lately? One thing they’ll generally have a lot of: some of the world’s greatest paintings. As a matter of fact, I’ve even been privileged enough to have laid my very own two eyes on one or two of ‘em, too. Van Gogh… Monet… DaVinci… Yep; I’ve been blessed, I’ll tell ya.

Having said that, though, I’d like you to take a good look, folks, at what I consider to be my very favorite painting of all time. At the moment it’s currently hanging on a wall in my house. But don’t rush for your “World’s Greatest Paintings” Almanac; you won’t find it listed.

Like I said, it’s my favorite. Not because it was painted by a world-renowned artist. Naw, the fellow who painted this (a French painter named Maurice Legendre) isn’t all that well-known, in spite of having been in the art world for a considerable number of years. And no, not because it’s worth a fortune, either. Although … if it was, I could skip step #2 of my plan to make a million dollars! (Step #1: Find a job that pays a million dollars an hour. Step #2: Work 1 hour.*)

No, this painting is my favorite because it’s a souvenir – and a reminder – of the trip my family and I made to Europe back in 1970. (And… just because I really like it.)

See, my dad, who was an engineer at the time for a large global chemical company, managed to wrangle a 9-month-long field assignment to Europe, so naturally he did what anybody else would do if they could – turned it into an extended family vacation for the rest of us! (And lemme just add here, “Way to go, Dad!”)

At least, it was a vacation for us – he had to work. (And yes, my sister and I did have to attend school for the remainder of the semester. But hey, it was, y’know, in Europe!)

Not Quite Reality

Funny thing about paintings, though. No matter how realistic they look, they just aren’t, well, real, y’know? I mean, go to any museum in the world and check out all those portraits. I defy you to find one single pimple on any face. I mean, c’mon; what’re the odds?

No, paintings don’t necessarily reflect reality (although some artists certainly give it a good run for the money). Heck, these days even photographs can be manipulated such that quite often my first thought when I see a particularly unusual one is, “I wonder if it’s been photoshopped?” Hey, am I right?

Anyhoo, this painting was created right there on the bank of the Seine river, just beyond those trees on the right. How do I know that? Well, I remember watching as the artist finished it with swift, sure strokes. (At least, that’s how I remember it, anyway.) The scene is the famous Pont Alexandre III (which is French for “The Bridge Named for Alexander the 3^rd”) as depicted on a rather gray, yet surprisingly luminous, rainy afternoon. (Or is it morning? Hrm…)

But here’s the thing. If you were to actually stand at the painting’s point of view, it wouldn’t quite look like what you see here. As a matter of fact, there’s quite a lot in this painting that, as the sayin’ goes, “ain’t quite right”.

What’s wrong with it, you say? Well, for instance…

The day this was painted – it wasn’t actually raining at all! Nope; it was a beautiful bright and sunny summer day. Oh, and if you check photos of the real Alexander III bridge (you can find plenty on the Internet), the Seine River actually appears to be quite a bit wider than depicted here (although I suppose that could’ve been an artifact of perspective). And, according to my memory (which admittedly ain’t what it used to be – *sigh*), you won’t see the Eiffel Tower from that spot, either.

Oh yeah, and one more thing: see that sailing ship? In order to get a ship that size into that amazingly picturesque position, they would have had to remove every mast on it. Not that you couldn’t; but it would be a huge pain in the, er, nether regions! Even so, I’m not sure you could fit the doggone thing under the bridges – most of ‘em are pretty low to the water. (See that tugboat lookin’ thing next to it? That’s how low boats have to be to fit under most of the bridges across the Seine.)

A License To…

So what’s my point, you ask? Well other than the one on the top of my head, my point is this: so what?

Lemme put it this way. You know what a license is, don’cha? It’s when you get official, recognized permission to do something – as in a hunting license, a driver’s license, or a “license to kill” a la James Bond. But here we’re talkin’ about something a mite “less” tangible: a creative license.

See, painters, writers, inventors – pretty much everyone who’s ever done anything creative in their lives (and yes, that includes when you were a kid and you tried to explain to mom that it was actually your little brother – or was it the dog? – who broke that lamp and not you) all have this wonderful opportunity before them to not only express something inside of them, but to express it in their own uniquely special way. After all, the artist who painted this scene had the real thing there right in front of him. But, by adding his own interpretation to the canvas, made it something unique. It’s not a photograph, after all (and yes, you can be amazingly creative with those, too), it’s an expression.

Speaking on behalf of writers everywhere, I think it’s safe to say we all do something similar. (And no, I’m not admitting to, um, embellishing all the stories you read here at the Zone. C’mon; even if it were true, do you think I’d ever admit it?) [Note from the Proprietor: Just kidding, folks! They’re all true – to the best of my memory, anyway. Honest.]

What I’m sayin’ is, it’s not what we say that makes it unique, interesting, boring, horrifying, humorous or (fill in appropriate descriptive here) – although that certainly plays an important part. Nope; the thing that makes folks keep comin’ back for more is the way we say what we want to say.

It’s like having your own license – a creative license!

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* OK, I freely admit it: I borrowed my “how to make a million dollars” plan from one of Steve Martin’s comedy routines. But that doesn’t make it any less brilliant. I’m just sayin’.

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Where I work there’s this long, man-made lake that surrounds the campus. Some days, when the urge strikes me for a bit of exercise, I enjoy a brisk walk around the lake after lunch.

The other day I encountered this little fellow standing in the water, patiently waiting for dinner to come within reach of his long bill. (No doubt he was practicing his crane technique. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Get it? Crane technique? Er, sorry.)

Understandably, he became a mite nervous as I approached, kinda watching me over his shoulders while still keepin’ an eye out for food. He gronked at me a few times, perhaps attempting to let me know in his eloquent way that this was his hunting spot. (Or maybe he just had a bit of indigestion?)

After a few minutes of standing his ground (or, in this case, water), he decided discretion was the better part of valor and noisily flapped off to a new spot a little farther down the shore. I could almost hear the huff as he grumbled to himself about “that rude interloper”.

Y’know, as far back as I can remember, I’ve always been fascinated by bodies of water, large and small. When I was a kid, my parents had this rustic cabin on a little spring-fed lake up in East Texas. We’d visit as often as we could, and without fail, the first thing I’d do on arrival (after makin’ sure I had my trusty compass and pocket knife – after all, it was a good, er, 50 feet away) was head for the lake.

I’m tellin’ ya, I could spend hours just gazing into those mysterious waters, imagining all kinds of hidden treasure, monstrous creatures, or lost civilizations down there. Quite often, curious fish would nose up near the shore to check out the newcomer, as if to say, ‘Sup, Dude?

Yep, it was great to have the freedom to figuratively stop the world and get off, y’know? I can still recall the soothing sounds of the breeze as it gently rustled about a billion colorful leaves in the trees above. The smell of the water and plants filled my lungs with its uplifting… well, freshness, for lack of a better term. Sunlight twinkled cheerfully from wind-blown ripples, giving everything an almost magical sparkle, like twinklings of light in the very air itself.

Most of all, I remember that delicious feeling of utter… peace. Yep; all was well.

Alas, that was then. These days, I don’t get to spend much time gazing across the waters, although I do appreciate the almost daily glimpse outside. I don’t imagine anything much is hidden under the surface, either, except a few turtles. I guess I’ve gotten a little too busy for that these days.

A shame, that.

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

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

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

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

29 Years of Christmas Trees

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2011, and Beyond

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

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

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

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

Hey, that’s good enough for me!

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

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Fallen Starlight

Beads of fallen starlight

From waning evening’s trace;

Delicately lay upon

A garden’s upturned face.

.

Fleeting are their kisses,

Like the sweetest of champagne;

Such tiny gems: night’s tears of joy –

What Breath of Life contain!

.

Unite in praise of Heaven for

Their delicate delight,

Whose substance, though yet fleeting –

Whose mem’ry lodges bright –

.

As cheerful Day begins his rise

They vanish with no sign;

Still, lingering substance permeates

The air with scent sublime!

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Photo: Sprinkled Like Stars, by Yours Truly

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In one of my favorite all-time romantic comedies, the 1972 movie What’s Up Doc, it quickly becomes obvious this is no ordinary love story! It’s a wonderfully hilarious treatment of the old oil-and-water-don’t mix relationship that’ll literally have you in stitches from start to finish.

In one scene, after becoming increasingly aggravated by Judy Maxwell (Barbara Streisand), Howard Bannister (Ryan O’Neal) finally cries out in frustration, “Why do you have to be so different!” She looks abashed for a moment, then quietly replies, “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to be so different. From now on, I’ll try to be the same.”

[Note from the Proprietor: If you’ve never seen this movie, by all means do. It’s worth it. Trust me on this.]

I said all that to ask ya this: Do you consider yourself to be “different”? (Forget everyone else’s opinion for the moment. If you’re anything like me, they will likely think you’re, y’know, insane.)

Anyhoo, I’d be willin’ to bet the farm (that is, if I had one) you probably do. To my mind (which admittedly can be a very strange place), we all like to think of ourselves as unique. But (and here’s the nub of the gist) does it aggravate you when you encounter folks who are different? Yeah, me too. Well, sometimes, anyway.

Vive le Differénce

I’ll tell ya; it never ceases to amaze me how each and every human being on the planet can be so… different. It’s true; we can separate ourselves into groups in a whole herd o’ ways – there is literally no limit . And I mean that in a good way. Really.

Take, for instance, U.S. politics (please!) I mean, you got your Republicans and your Democrats. And if that ain’t enough of a difference for you, well, you got your Libertarians, your Greens and your Independents, too. And that’s just the tip o’ the compost heap. Then there’s schools: every college or university you care to name (and more). And we all identify from different countries and home towns, don’t we? Oh, I could go on, but I think you get my meanin’, right? The fact is, we ARE all pretty different.

On the other hand…

You know how they say that long-time married couples begin to act, think, and even look alike after awhile? (Heaven help Mrs. MZM if, y’know, that last one is true!) Well, while that may or may not be the case, even so, those of us who’ve spent a lot of time in each other’s company can still be, when you get right down to it, amazingly different.

Keepin’ It Simple

Take, for instance, the curious case of Yours Truly and the ever-gorgeous Mrs. MZM. After more than 28 excitin’ fun-filled years of marital bliss (that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it) we have, in many ways, grown to be quite alike. However, in certain other ways we can still be as different as day and, er, not day. I’ll give you an example.

The other evening we decided to have something “simple” for supper (happens a lot around our house). That usually means something along the lines of, say, a tuna fish sandwich. Now, over the years Mrs. MZM, bless her sweet little well-meaning heart, has tried to stealthily slip various and sundry “extra ingredients” into the tuna mix. Thus, every now and then I’d occasionally inadvertently bite down on unexpected stuff like diced pecans, diced celery, or even diced boiled egg. (One time, it was diced grapes, for cryin’ out loud! Now I’ll admit it had a kinda interestin’ flavor, but it turned the whole thing a mite soggy. Ick.)

Well Bubba, I don’t mind tellin’ ya; when it comes to my tuna fish sandwich, I’m something of a purist, if you get my meanin’. And so (with the exception of the diced egg, which turned out to be a pretty tasty addition – and also, by the way, proving you can teach an ol’ dog like me new tricks), I really don’t like anything else sneakin’ around in there. I’m just sayin’.

Different Strokes

The upshot is, I know what to expect when it comes to tuna fish sandwiches (and pretty much sandwiches in general). No surprises is just the way I like ‘em.

BUT (and as you can see, that’s a mighty BIG ‘but’), there is still a major difference in the way the two of us prepare our sandwiches. As you can no doubt see in the photo, I like mine cut, er, properly, and she… well, she cuts hers “in a different way” (which in this case, is a euphemism for “wrong”).

Yep; the truth is out. We’re different. (sound of surprised gasp) Is that bad? Not on your life! Hey, when it comes to our differences, I say, “Vive le differénce!”

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BONUS: “So,” I can hear you ask, “Which one of these sandwiches is mine, and which one is, well, wrong?”

Hey, I’ll leave it to you, my dear kind reader, to ascertain (yet another euphemism, meaning “guess”) which one of these delicious works of performance art is which.

(But if you’d like to guess, by all means leave a comment in the box – and let me know how you made your guess decision. If you know anything about me, it’ll probably be obvious. Just sayin’.)

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I shot this photo the other day while visiting the Boardwalk area of the tiny coastal town of Kemah, Texas. I happened to notice, just a short distance away, a set of wooden posts out on the very edge of the shore.

Usually posts like this are covered with seagull poop seagulls. What kinda caught my eye was the fact that this time there was only a single bird there.

The Watcher

Now, if you click on the photo you’ll see it more clearly (it’ll take you to the Flickr page). It appears as if the seagull is checkin’ out those two sailboats as they zip off into the distance. On noticing that tiny detail, I was struck by a thought (sound of dull thud).

I thought it somewhat ironic how we humans, with our big giant brains (mind you, I’m speakin’ figuratively, not necessarily personally), can be so proud of our accomplishments. I mean, here are these two guys who, with a little diligence (not to mention a little cash) managed to learn how to spread a sail, capture the wind, and use it to drive themselves across the sea in an exhilarating fashion. (Hey, I’ve done it, and I can tell you it’s quite a rush!)

In the meantime, this little bird, with a brain no bigger than your average pea, simply spreads his wings and, with virtually no effort, sails up into the skies with nary a care in the world. And all on a budget of free-for-the-taking sardines, too.

But wait, you say, that’s not a fair comparison. It’s in the bird’s nature to fly. After all, he has wings. And if a bird spreads ‘em while the wind is blowing, well, physics happens, y’know?

We humans, on the other hand, have to learn everything for ourselves – ‘cause when we’re born, we got nothin’! I mean, we got no wings. We got no instincts. Alas, we got no aerodynamic shapes anywhere. In fact, if I were to jump off a cliff with only the things I was born with, the only physics that’ll happen is somethin’ along the lines of drop-like-a-sack-of-overripe-plums. Kinda excitin’ for a while, but then there’s that pesky sudden stop at the bottom.

OK, fair enough; birds can fly, and human-types can’t – at least, not without a lot of help. So what?

It’s About Potential…

The thing, I think, that makes the difference between the bird and the sailor, though, is the difference in their potential. See, a bird, bless his little pea-brain, is just a bird. He’s born a bird. He lives as a bird, and he’ll pass on to that great sky in the, er, sky, as – yep, you guessed it – a bird. What’s more (and here’s the nub of the gist, if you get my meanin’), he can never be anything but a bird (no matter how many times you read Jonathan Livingston Seagull). It’s just not in his nature.

Ah, but a human being, now – well that’s a whole ‘nuther pile o’ potatoes! Hey, as far as I’m concerned, one of the most amazing things about us human beings is the tremendous potential there is within every one of us. I mean, think about it (sound of grinding gears).

As I mentioned earlier, when we’re born, we have pretty much nothing. No instincts, no innate knowledge, practically a clean slate. We’re nothing more than a cute little squirming bundle of potentiality. (For the sake of expediency, I’m assumin’ that “cute” bit is always true.)

The fact is, given the opportunity (and the means, although that certainly doesn’t stop some folks) any baby can become pretty much anything they eventually want to be – subject to the laws of reality, of course. (Shame about reality, ain’t it? *Sigh* That’s pretty much why I had to give up on my childhood dream of, y’know, bein’ a spaceman.) All throughout our lives, we’re constantly besieged by all kinds of influences. Family, friends, information, you name it – it all goes into the mysterious mix that is us.

… And It’s About Choice

On top of that, there’s the matter of choice. Practically every moment of every day we’re faced with the need to make decisions. Sometimes big ones, sometimes little inconsequential ones, but you might as well face it; you’ll never be able to avoid them for long.

Admittedly, as a kid I rarely gave any thought to any possible long-term consequences my choices would create. Hey, that’s just the way it is when you’re a kid, y’know? Lack of experience, I know.

However, there’s no avoiding the fact that some of those choices did, indeed, form the basis for what I’m doing – and indeed, who I am – today. Do our choices limit who we can become in the future? I’m gonna say – most certainly. But is that necessarily a bad thing? Well, in my humble opinion, probably not.

That innate ability to become something we’re not, now that’s an exciting prospect, wouldn’t you say?

So What About You?

So lemme ask ya; do you think you’ve reached your full potential? What makes you think so? And if you still have one or two things on your horizon, how do you plan to get there?

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I love questions that really make you wonder. Questions like, Is there an exception to the rule “there’s an exception to every rule”? Or one of my personal favorites, Why are there 5 syllables in the word “monosyllabic”?

The fact is, you don’t have to go searching for ‘em; they sometimes show up right at your feet. In fact, it happened just the other evening when a neighbor from down the street dropped by to chat with Mrs. MZM for a few minutes. She happened to bring her cute little son along with her, and as is typical whenever multiple adults and only one child get together, the tiniest member of the group became the center of attention. (How do they do that, anyway?)

C’mon, Push the Button

Just so you know, our house isn’t exactly child-proof, mind you, nor is it filled with fun stuff for babies to play with, either. However, unlike us adults, children have an innate ability to uncover the entertainment value in practically anything (up to and including dirt).

We usually keep an electric heating pad lying on the floor next to the couch. (What can I say? Sometimes it just, er, helps. If you know what I mean – great. If not – one day you will. Just sayin’.) Now, you and I both know this isn’t an appropriate plaything for a baby. So of course the little critter made a beeline right for it.

He grabbed the control pad and quickly discovered that pushing its buttons caused the little light to change colors in the following sequence: push #1 = yellow, push #2 = orange, push #3 = red, push #4 = off. (Please be assured – and you’ll have to trust me on this – all three of us were watching him closely and there was absolutely no danger involved.)

This impromptu “toy” seemed to keep him happy, but it was the “off” setting that threw him for a loop. Although the pretty glowing light fascinated him, every time it turned off his imagined solution was to simply push that button all the harder. In fact, I could see his hands and arms literally shaking with the effort to make that light go on, as if he could make it work by sheer strength. Eventually, of course, he’d let go – then push it again and voila! the whole sequence began all over again.

Now, when you think about it, wasn’t it silly of him to imagine that if a certain action (pushing a button) failed to produce an expected result (the light changed color), that doing that same action with even more effort (c’mon, push harder!) would magically make it work?

On the other hand… don’t we adults do the same thing? No, you say? Have you ever flipped a light switch, only to find the light didn’t work – then (and be honest here) flipped it at least a couple more times, just to be sure? Yep; thought so.

Well then why do you press harder on a TV remote control when you know the battery is dead? (Yes, you!) I mean, you know it’s dead, right? Then, um, why – ?

Yeah, sometimes we adults aren’t quite so smart as all that, are we?

Questions, Questions

Ah, questions, questions, questions! The fact is, life if chock full of imponderable questions, isn’t it? So, just to celebrate that fact, here’s a whole herd o’ questions for which I have never found a meaningful answer:

• Why do ballet dancers dance on their toes? Why doesn’t the company just hire taller dancers?
• Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible black cinder which no decent human being (nor most self-respecting animals, either) would ever eat?
• Speaking of bread – since all sandwich bread is square, why do they make round sandwich meats?
• What should you do if you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?
• If laughter is the best medicine, what does it mean when someone dies laughing?
• If milk goes bad when not refrigerated, why doesn’t it go bad in the cow?
• If a train station is where a train stops, what happens at a work station?
• Does a lightning rod on top of a church demonstrate a lack of faith?
• Do sheep get static cling when they rub against one another? And why don’t they shrink when it rains?
• If most car accidents occur within five miles of home, why doesn’t everyone just move 10 miles away?

Needless to say, there are plenty more where these came from! However, I’ll leave you with this one final question:

• If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?

By the way, if you happen to know the answer to any of these questions, then by all means feel free to chime in with it down there in the comment box. What the heck, if you feel particularly inspired, go ahead and make an answer up! I might even award extra points for the most creative answers.

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A Bad Sign

I’m just askin’, mind you, but would you consider it a bad sign if a large carrion bird sat outside your window and stared at you as if… well, as if you were their next meal?

That’s pretty much exactly what I thought the other day when I visited a coworker’s office and was greeted by this somewhat disquieting scene right outside his office window.

Me bein’ me and all, naturally a whole host of great one-liners instantly came to mind:

“I dunno; if I were you I’d check the organization chart for your name.”

“Have you, er, noticed a dramatic drop in your emails, lately?”

… not to mention,

“I see HR is using a new approach for sending out layoff notices.”

Of course, I could always do the time-honored “pull out a tape measure and start checking if all my stuff will fit in his office routine”… but that’s been done to death, don’cha think? (Get it? Carrion birds? Death? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Er, sorry.)

Aw, don’t worry; I’m just kidding. I don’t really think he’s got anything to worry about. After all, with today’s economy in the shape it’s in, there’s no reason for anything but optimism, right?

Expect the Unexpected

What was really funny about the whole thing was when I moved closer to capture a good close-up. (Yes, he could see me easily, right through the heavy silvering on the outside of the glass.) As I eased my phone closer for a portrait, he reached out and started tap-tap-tapping on the glass. Good thing it was there or I’d be lunch meat!

Anyway, I just thought this was a rather, um, graphic reminder for all of us: when you’re in the midst of your plans, schemes, etc. – don’t forget to expect the unexpected. I mean, you never know, y’know? Just sayin’.

So… anything unexpected happen to YOU lately?

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

- opening line of “A Tale of Two Cities”, by Charles Dickens

Well, it ain’t exactly Dickens, but please allow me to share with you the following tale of two corridors…

Corridor #1

I was moseying down (that’s “walking”, for y’all non-Texans in the audience) a fairly long hallway at my workplace the other day (see the photo on the right) when I noticed an interesting phenomenuh an interesting phenominom something unusual.

As I gradually approached the double doors at the end of the corridor (it’s that small black square waaay down there), it almost seemed as though, instead of getting closer, the hallway was growing longer. An optical illusion, to be sure, but still a bit disconcerting. Only as I finally neared the end did everything sorta go back to normal again. (Of course, “normal” in my world is a relative term – but that’s an entirely different skillet o’ catfish.)

Needless to say, it was an odd little bit of perspective shift – almost claustrophobic, if you know what I mean. Strange.

Corridor #2

Another day, another corridor, this one on the way to the company cafeteria…

Not surprisingly, there was a distinctly different feel to this one. Unlike that other weird, Twilight-Zone-esque corridor, this one engendered no odd sense of eternity stretching out before me. This time it was just a pleasant walk. (Of course, the prospect of, y’know, food at the end may have had something to do with it. Just sayin’.)

So what was the difference?

Well, obviously one big difference is the fact that the second corridor is lined with windows, right? Not only does the outside view make the corridor “feel” bigger, but the scenery is a lot more interesting.

Also, I think the vertical window frames serve as a sortof, well, let’s call it a “progress meter” (at least to the subconscious mind, anyway), silently ticking the moments by as I made my way down its length (the two corridors are pretty much the same length. Unlike the first corridor, which seems like a gray, almost unbroken tunnel, this one is light and cheery with, as I mentioned before, something delicious at the end of it.

So What?

By now you’re probably wonderin’ to yourselves just what the heck this all has to do with the price of a side o’ beef in, say, Timbuktu. Well, I guess the best answer is, “Not much.” On the other hand, though, thinkin’ of these two corridors did make me reflect a bit on life, the universe, and… well, you get the picture, right?

If your life is anything like mine, you’ve surely experienced a period of waiting at some time or another. Yep; thought so. Sometimes it feels almost like life is a nothing but a never-ending series of momentary events, preceded by periods of restless waiting, doesn’t it?

Take job-hunting, for instance (please!) I’ve done my share of it, and every time it’s the same thing: work like mad to generate job leads, send a stream of resumes out to even the remotest of possibilities, and no matter what, leave no stone unturned in that quest for employment.

The biggest problem with this sort of thing is, it’s really hard to tell if you’re getting anywhere! Kinda like moseyin’ down that first corridor, y’know? Trust me, I know; most folks have been there too. You’re walkin’, walkin’, and still walkin’ – but you can’t tell if you’re makin’ any headway. In fact, it may even seem like you’re losing ground.

Conversely, other times the job hunt has progressed relatively steadily. From initial contact to the resume submittal, then on to that first interview, negotiation and then – employment! (sound of crowd cheering) Yeah, I’ve had that one happen, too, and when it does it’s more like that second corridor, the one with the windows, the view, and the reward at the end.

Strange how life seems to imitate art corridors, isn’t it? But still, I find it’s not the waiting that gets me down. It’s the fact that I can’t see if things are progressing. (And it’s not just that they’re not progressing as I want them too; it’s that they don’t seem to be progressing at all.)

Sad to say, most waiting periods are like that. You get no sense of what’s happening outside of your own personal world – of the things going on behind the scenes. Whereas, if you can actually see things progressing, get some feedback from the outside world – well, it makes the passing of time and the waiting a whole lot easier, don’t you think?

What to Do?

Anyhoo – I brought all this up to offer an encouraging word or two, should you happen to actually be in a waiting period right now (uh, is anyone not?)

First of all, suffice it to say I know exactly how you feel, and it ain’t no fun, I can tell ya. The good news is, there are some things you can do to help alleviate that stretched-out eternity feeling.

Don’t shut your spouse out. OK, obviously, if you’re not married then this one won’t apply to you. But if you are, then you have a built-in support mechanism from someone who once said they’d be there for you through thick and thin. It never ceases to amaze me how many folks (sadly, we men are especially guilty of this one) would rather try and “work things out” for ourselves. It stems from a feeling that by admitting we’re troubled we’ll appear weak or something. Hey, I’ve been there; I know. All I can say is, if you’re blessed with a spouse who loves you, then share your life with ‘em – all of it. Trust me when I tell you it can be truly rewarding!

Keep in touch  with your friends. I’ve noticed it over the years, and I bet you have too: having a friend to talk to makes time pass a whole lot faster than if you’re spending it all alone. Especially if you’re spending your time alone thinkin’ oh, woe is me! (Been there!) If you’re in the waiting room, find a friend to spend some time with. If you don’t have a handy friend, go make a new one! Even better, find a friend who’s down in the dumps and, instead of you both sobbing into your root beers, try passing along an encouraging word or two. Nothing dispels self-absorption like lifting the spirits of someone else!

Learn something new. One of the things I promised myself long ago was to never stop learning new stuff. Whether it’s discovering photography, learning to appreciate Masterpiece Theater, or finally getting good at juggling chainsaws (better make sure your Life Insurance is paid up for that one!), it’s always a good thing to expand your brain into new pathways. A bonus: you’ll be surprised how it’ll give you new insights into all those old challenges, too. And there’s nothin’ like stirrin’ up the little gray cells now and then to breathe fresh air into otherwise stagnant thinking.

Keep on walkin’ Bubba! (Or if you’re in Texas, keep on moseyin’.) Put this one in blazing letters a foot high, my friend! The worst thing you can do is… stop. Stop trying, stop learning, stop talking – to stop living. Hey, waiting is one thing – we all end up there sooner or later. But stopping is a whole ‘nuther animal altogether. Keep doin’ what you know to do, and never lose hope. Trust that outside of your perception, outside of that dark, long corridor, things really are happening. Use your imagination and put some windows in that long, dark corridor you’re traveling. (OK, no more metaphors, I promise!) You have to believe that and keep goin’ with all your heart because, in fact, it’s true! One thing we can all agree on is that life is all about change, and change happens all the time, all around us. Just because you can’t see it happening…

This Too Shall Pass

Just remember, Bubba; these things haven’t come to stay in your life. Nope, they’ve come to pass. And in passing, we grow.

Are you in life’s waiting room at the moment? Then join the crowd! Trust me; you’re not the Lone Stranger in here – not by a long shot! In fact, at the moment, I’m right there with ya! (Why not come on over and we’ll visit a spell? Just look for the hat.)

Care to tell us about it? What other techniques have you learned over the years that have helped you – and maybe can help the rest of us as we wait? Take a moment, why don’t you, and share ‘em with us down there in the comment box. Hey, we’ll surely thank you!

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Allow me to ask you a personal question. (sound of audience stampeding from the room)

Gee, that went well, don’cha think? Anyhoo – here’s the question:

Have you ever had a moment when you suddenly doubted your senses? You know what I mean, right? A time when you saw something that made your brain put the brakes on full and come to a screeching halt?

Yep; thought so. Here’s one that happened to me the other day.

Lunch Break

Mrs. MZM and I visited a cute little place called Drew’s Pastry Place for lunch not too long ago. (Despite the name, they make some really great – and really reasonably priced – lunches.) We like to support small, local businesses whenever we can (hence the link), and this is one of our favorites. I’ll tell ya; although Drew makes a mouth-watering selection of wonderful pastries, he also makes this delicious pizza that’s to die for…

Anyway, while waiting for our lunch to make its way to our table, my eyes naturally wandered around, sizing up the surroundings for possible photogenic opportunities. (Alas, that’s what happens when you catch the camera bug. Even Mrs. MZM is getting into the spirit of things, cheerfully pointing out interesting things every now and then.)

Since we were sitting at a table right by the window, I spent some time just observing the scenery outside. That’s when it happened. I glanced up and there, flashing on and off like a big red neon sign floating in the sky, was the word, “OPEN”.

Now since, as far as I know, I have almost never suffered from hallucinations, my brain immediately did a double-take. I thought to myself, “Ungh? Why in the world would there be a ghostly word floating up there in the clear blue sky? And written backwards, no less! What could it mean?

Well, a few scenarios immediately jumped to mind. Could it have been that a clandestine alien secret agent, after having thoroughly investigated the Earth’s paltry defenses, was signaling the nearby invasion force to drop in and take over. Or, maybe it was some giant advertising campaign, intended to let folks know some retailer was now, uh, open for business. (Since the word was written backwards, I tended to discount the possibility it was a message from God.)

I immediately put my lightning-fast and highly-skilled powers of reasoning to bear on the situation. (Meaning: I scratched my head and thought about it for a few seconds.) Now, in order to get to the nub of the gist, the first issue to be dealt with was a rather foundational one: Was I the only one who could see it?

How to Establish Your Sanity (Without Appearing Insane)

The obvious solution was to verify my sanity (such as it is) with Mrs. MZM. Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out how to do that without sounding completely idiotic, if you get my meanin’.

“Um…” I said, trying not to lead the witness, “you don’t happen to see anything odd up there in the sky, do you?”

“Like what?” she immediately replied, peering upwards out the window.

“Oh, like… er, well…” Alas, there was no way to avoid it, so I took the bull by the horns and continued. “Well, I sorta see this big, red, floating word up there. It says, ‘OPEN… OPEN…OPEN…’”

I had to admit that now I had said it out loud, it did sound pretty weird.

Silence for a few seconds… then, “Oh, I see it too!” Needless to say, a sense of relief flooded through me.

My sanity assured (he said, blithely), the next question was, where on Earth was it coming from? Luckily for my sanity, that one solved itself pretty easily. There was a lighted “OPEN” sign hanging above me, a few feet back from the window. It was clearly visible from the outside, but from our table (right next to the window), it was completely out of our sight.

Mystery solved! (sound of big sigh of relief) Well, at least I knew I wasn’t going crazy! (At least, not due to random hallucinations, anyway.)

Has This Ever Happened To You?

So… just out of curiosity, has something like this ever happened to you? I mean, have you ever seen something that just made you doubt your sanity for a few moments? Hey, don’t be shy – go ahead and share it with us down there in the comment box. I’ll leave the light on.

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[Disclaimer: The Mrs. and I received no compensation for mentioning Drew's Pastry Place. We just like it and want folks to know about it. Drop by if you get a chance; you won't regret it.]

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I don’t know if you’ve ever had the opportunity to check out the inside of a piano, but if you can, do yourself a favor: go find one and take a good look. I mean, these things are a marvel! What you’ll find is an amazing intersection of three completely different disciplines: engineering, craftsmanship, and physics.  the embodiment of the blend of form and function.

You know what I like the best about a piano, though? It’s that, when you look inside the (usually) beautifully handcrafted wooden case, it’s all so wonderfully, I don’t know, analog! And in today’s digital world, I find that kindof refreshing, don’t you?

Busy, Busy, Busy

Let’s see… inside, there’s about a zillion moving parts: wood and/or metal levers, little wooden hammers, strips of felt, metal pins, not to mention hundreds of wires ranging from very thin ones to thick, multi-wrapped monsters. I’m tellin’ ya; it’s a veritable Rube Goldberg-esque device, inside there.

One of the first things that always impressed me with your average piano is the internal structure of the wooden case. There are smooth wooden ribs and structural members running every which way in there. In fact, it’s amazing how they manage to get all that stuff in there and still leave room for the mechanical parts, too.

The thing is, a piano really needs that strength. Why? Well, there are 88 keys on the typical piano. And for each key, there are actually three piano wires. That makes a total of (hrm, let’s see now… I’m gonna have to take my shoes and socks off for this calculation…), uh, 264 wires! And all those wires, when properly tuned, produce an awful lot of… tension.

Did you know, in a modern grand piano, the total force created by the tension in those wires can be greater than 10 tons?

That Thing We Love To Hate

Ah; tension – it ranks right up there as one of the things we most love to hate, doesn’t it? Sometimes we call it stress, or strain, or even opposition, but it’s almost always the same thing. It’s that thing that opposes what we want to do.

Funny thing, though. Most of us spend so much time doing our best to avoid stress and tension in our lives (and I must admit to being no exception to that crowd), but we sometimes completely miss the fact that tension is actually a pretty useful thing to have. (sound of incredulity from the audience) No, really!

Let’s use this piano as an example. I mean, when you get right down to it, the very reason for a piano’s existence (and pretty much any stringed instrument, for that matter) is to provide a way to stretch a series of strings out in such a way as to produce music. And to do that, you have to have two anchor point (one fixed and one adjustable), and something to string between them.

Now, to produce the proper musical sound, you have to do what? (Yes, you in the back with your hand raised.) That’s right: stretch the dickens outta that wire! (or string, or gut, or whatever) Yep; ya gotta put the thing under a great deal of tension. And isn’t tension just another way of saying “getting pulled in two different directions”?

Otherwise, instead of, say, Mozart we’d get, I don’t know, maybe something that sounds a lot like a war between rogue gangs of alley cats. Believe me, when you’re sittin’ there in front of thousands of folks in Carnegie Hall, about to play your first virtuoso performance, well, that wouldn’t do at all! (Unless, of course, you were, y’know, going for Theme From: Cat Fight. Hey, I never know what passes for music these days).

Time to Make Music

Now, I think most of us experience the same sort of thing pretty much all the time, don’t we? I mean, we all have a little of this, that, and the other thing, all pullin’ us in different directions, with never a letup in sight. Life is like that, y’know?

But in fact, isn’t it also true that those tensions, stresses, and strains, once we learn to “tune” them to the proper note, are what help produce the beautiful music that is our lives? It’s somewhere there in the balance, isn’t it?

So next time you’re tempted to curse, rant or rail about something in your life that’s pullin’ you in two different directions, just think about that piano. After everything is said and done, it isn’t all about the tensions we face every day. Hey, welcome to life!

Nope, I think life is really all about the music.

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Howdy, y’all, and a big ol’ tip o’ the Monday hat to ya!

Hey, around these parts Spring has pretty much sprung out all over, so to help celebrate that blessed event, I thought I’d share a bit of poetry I’ve had brewin’ for awhile now. It was sorta inspired by this photo of the seed pods from a sycamore tree in a local park. It happened to spark some great memories of summers as a child long ago, and, well, tell me what you think:

Spikey Balls

Memories of my childhood in a less-than-wealthy place;
Simple joys and happiness, and sunshine on my face.

Jumping into piles of leaves, exploring secret woods,
Searching creeks for giant frogs (I’d catch ‘em if I could!)

Together with my faithful friend, ol’ General Joe McLong,
(He was a weiner dog, you know) my bond with him was strong.

The two of us could romp and play with free and wild abandon,
Bare-footing it through grassy knolls with nothing sharp to land on.

Except -

There was this one big sycamore, with leaves of yellow-green,
I’d climb it to the highest heights to see what could be seen.

All summer long its branches filled with green and patient fruit,
No problem while still up there, but when fallen, more acute.

Over time, though, they transmogrified into these spiky balls
And then fell in such great numbers it resembled Nightmare Falls.

They laid in wait to prick my toes once fallen to the ground,
Oh, how I hated spiky balls wherever they were found!

Still, to this day I find myself remembering those times,
Of spiky balls and General Joe and silly little rhymes!

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Hey, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what you think! Just leave a comment in the box down there, won’t you? I’d kinda like to try this a little more often, so you never know, y’know?

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

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

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

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

Just Call Me Bubba

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

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

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

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

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

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

Memorable in More Ways Than One

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

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

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

Trust me; I could go on…

What I Learned From Hollis

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

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

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

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

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

So, Did It ‘Take’?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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