Category Archives: true stories

So Little, But So Much

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Hey, it’s easy to have fun when you have a lot of, y’know, things to have fun with. I mean, who wouldn’t enjoy having lots of really cool stuff such as fancy clothes, a nice car, or a genuine pair of rocket boots? I mean, c’mon!

The thing is, the opposite can be just as true. You can truly have a lot of fun with very little. Hey, just ask the average little kid who has less fun with the toy than the box it came in. It’s mainly a matter of attitude.

Yeah, I’m always thinkin’ (sound of grinding gears) along these lines at this time of year, and it happens ‘cause of the Main Event. See, around these here parts, and more specifically our house, the Main Event is the annual Setting Up The Christmas Tree (sound of cheering).

The Main Event

Now, in a normal year, our tree makes its customary appearance like clockwork on the day after Thanksgiving. Although last year, in a rather daring and unprecedented move, we set it up the weekend before, thanks to a combination of Thanksgiving-day family get-togethers. (Mrs. MZM decorated the bare tree with a few pumpkins and some colorful leaves, just so it wouldn’t feel neglected and lonely. She’s such a sweetheart.)

Unfortunately, this year we got off to a kinda slow start – but I think we’ll leave that tale for another day. Suffice it to say, for the first time in quite a while, our tree didn’t get put up until the weekend AFTER Thanksgiving. (Oh the humanity! It was like… uh, like… darkness settled upon the land, and voices of young children cried softly in the night… Or something.)

Anyhoo, over the years we’ve amassed quite a collection of decoratin’ stuff, thanks to having traveled so much. We’ve got, let’s see, your typical spherical ornaments in various sizes and colors, some fairly old ornaments from Mrs. MZM’s childhood, as well as a veritable plethora of assorted little figures of angels, stars, etc. There are also things that fall into the “greenery” category (although most of them aren’t actually green but gold, silver or whatever). Finally (and these are my favorites), we have about a zillion glass icicles of various and sundry designs.

As I place each of the aforementioned items on the tree (I’m the designated tree trimmer in our household; Mrs. MZM does the rest of the house), I can’t help but reminisce about some of my own past Christmases, and the trees my family had back then. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s amazing how the decorations have changed over time.

An Old-Fashioned Christmas

OK, back to my initial point.

One year – I guess I was about 8 or 9 years old – my family decided that we would have an “old-fashioned Christmas” and cover our tree with nothing but hand-made decorations that year. Looking back, I realize it was a way for the family to economize, but issues like that were “above my pay grade”, if you get my meanin’. ‘Course, my sister and I didn’t notice that little detail; we were ecstatic because it meant we pretty much got to make everything ourselves! Definitely an “Oooh, shiney!” moment.

So – what’s the one essential ingredient to making homemade old-fashioned decorations? Why, popcorn, of course! Needless to say, this was gonna be a cinch. We immediately made, oh, about a barrel of popcorn (you have to make allowances for, er, attrition, if you follow me) and gathered all the necessary materials: brightly colored wrapping paper, karo syrup, and lots and lots of string.

Luckily, making popcorn decorations is really easy. With the paper you make cone-shaped baskets for holding loose popcorn. And, popcorn balls are easy to make with Karo syrup, don’cha know. The most fun, though was making endless strings of popcorn for garlands. Put ‘em all together and voila! you have an old-fashioned Christmas tree! Yeehaw!

Imagine, if you will, a veritable tornado of excited activity (accompanied by appropriate Christmas music, of course) surrounding a Christmas tree, and you’ll have a pretty good image of our decorating effort that afternoon. Within hours, it was finished!

I’ll tell ya; I’ve never forgotten the fun we had that Christmas. Imagine – nothing fancy, no expensive (or even cheap) ornaments, just popcorn, paper and string. What a great lesson for us as children – that we could have that much fun with so little. I’ve never forgotten it.

So what about you? Care to share a similar time in your Christmas past?

By all means, you’re welcome to pop it in the comment box below. Don’t worry; I’ll leave the light on for ya!

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By the way, the story doesn’t quite end there.

Once the excitement finally died down and the (inevitable) mess cleaned up, what was left of the day proceeded as usual. Around 5:30 or so, Dad got home from work; Mom (bless her heart) had dinner ready by six. Naturally, conversation during most of mealtime was about the fun we had making the decorations and trimming the tree.

Suddenly, we heard a soft, sorta swish sound coming from the living room. It stopped conversation dead, it was so unexpected. My sister was closest to the door to the living room, so she sneaked up to the door and peeked around the corner.

Did the Christmas tree fall over? Was Santa early? Or maybe it was a burglar, breaking in to steal those incredibly wonderful decorations we’d worked so hard on. I’m tellin’ ya, I was ready to jump up and defend them to the death!

Surprisingly, though, as soon as she got her head around the corner she started laughing. So, no burglar. At least, not exactly.

Apparently, we had completely forgotten about the cat.

Yep; in our absence, the cat (Napoleon Solo – named after the then-popular TV show, The Man From Uncle. Hey, what can I say?) had discovered all those delectable decorations and had climbed into the tree (knocking a few things off in the process) to partake of the feast thereof.

Who knew cats liked popcorn?

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Photo credit: Popcorn Strings, by flavouredechoes

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Dawn of the Dead

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

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

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

Anyhoo, getting’ back to the subject…

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

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

Firm Foundation

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

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

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

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

Rude Awakening

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

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

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

Dr. Dead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He Lived Up To His Name

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Bad To Worse

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

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

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

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

A Hard Lesson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Photo credit: F, by duncan

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Creative License

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Painting of the Pont du Alexandre III bridge over the Seine River in ParisBeen 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 3rd”) 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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Floor It!

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Close up of face showing both eyes, with one eyebrow raised as in disbelief‘Way back at the turn of the century (wow, that sounds like a long time ago, doesn’t it?), I spent four months clean on the other side of the world (from where I usually hang out, that is). I was working on a project in the city of Hsin-Chu, Taiwan. Just so ya know, it’s about an hour’s driving distance southwest of Taipei, situated near the western coast. It was my first time to visit what we in the U.S. call the Far East, and I really enjoyed to the adventure.

Unlike field assignments in the U.S., instead of providing a rental car, the company had assigned me a car and driver to take care of the daily commute from my hotel to the work site. I quickly discovered two wonderful benefits about this arrangement.

First, having a professional in the driver’s seat not only saved me considerable aggravation, it probably saved my life more than once. Man, I thought I knew what wild traffic was like! After all, I’ve been around, y’know? It didn’t take me long, though, to realize I was ‘waaay safer takin’ a back seat on this one, if ya know what I mean.

Second, I soon realized what most mass transit commuters discover for themselves: it’s kinda nice havin’ a little extra free time on your hands while someone else worries about the traffic. And bein’ a bona-fide stranger in a strange land, so to speak, literally everything outside my window was new and interesting. I’m tellin’ ya, Bubba, I could get used to that!

But let’s get back to that first point for bit.

The Joy of Rush Hour

Like I said, rush-hour traffic in Hsin-Chu is pretty bad (and from what I understand, pretty much every other major city in Taiwan, especially Taipei). Like any other city that’s experienced rapid growth in a short time, the number of cars on the road tends to far outstrip the capacity of aforementioned roads. Fact of life, I guess.

On the other hand, one of the benefits of having a professional driver meant we rarely took a main road anywhere. This guy knew every back way, driveway, and byway (not to mention every footpath, sidewalk and mule trail) in the city! I found myself really looking forward to my commute because after all, you never knew what undiscovered path we’d end up on. It was actually a lot of fun.

I mean, we’d go zooming down what here at home we’d call a sidewalk, but to them it was a regular street, with tiny little houses on each side of us, so close I could easily touch them as we zinged past. Every one of ‘em had doors that opened onto the street, and I often wondered what would happen if some poor unsuspecting homeowner decided at the wrong moment to step outside.

Sheesh, it was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Especially when, every now and then, we’d meet a car coming the opposite way. It was a real challenge trying to find a spot big enough so one or the other car could pass and be on their way.

I was always impressed with my driver’s manner, too. No matter what we ran across (well, not literally ran across, you understand), he was the picture of imperturbability. I mean, nothing flapped this guy. Whether it was a case of squeezing by a truckload of ducks (likely not something you’d see too often in the U.S., I’ll bet!) or zooming down a narrow dirt road, dodging the occasional cyclist or two, the guy never once cracked an expression. It was amazing!

Well… except there was this one time…

Grand Prix, Here We Come!

For some reason, on this one morning he had a particularly difficult time finding a route to work that hadn’t been reduced to a parking lot by the omnipresent rush-hour congestion. My driver had to basically pull out every trick in the book, so to speak, just to keep us going in the right direction.

While on one slow car-filled stretch of road, he suddenly turned into what I had at first taken for someone’s driveway. For one crazy moment I thought he might be actually about to commit the cardinal sin of, y’know, turning around (sound of horrified scream) and backtrack for a bit. But no, as soon as we made the turn, I could immediately see it was simply another one of those exceedingly narrow back streets the city is laced with.

I guess the long unimpeded straightaway gave him a bit of inspiration, because as the car thrummed with applied power I saw him breathe deeply and sortof settle into his seat. Fortunately, no unsuspecting homeowners decided to step out their front door and meet their maker in a rather sudden and unexpected way! Unfortunately, the street was a mite narrower than the usual cow path and, just to make things interesting, was also spotted with occasional thick wooden light poles (you know, the kind with street lights and electrical wires strung between them).

I don’t mind tellin’ ya friends, this was a little unusual, even for us!

What was it like, you ask? Well, lemme put it this way: I’ll bet there’s still an imprint in that car’s armrest from where my fingers crunched down on it. At the same time, my stomach tightened up, sweat started seeping outta my brow, and just for good measure, had I been a swearin’ man I’da sworn my butt cheeks clenched onto that seat and held on dear life!

Yeah, it was sorta like that.

Hey, you wanna talk about a wild ride! We zoomed down that lane like we were running the Grand Prix, dodging houses, cyclists and little old grandmas (not to mention the occasional dog) like they were standing still! I don’t mind tellin’ ya, this was a tad more excitement than I had signed up for!

After a minute or two, though, I was able to accept the fact that we probably weren’t going to die just yet and that the driver had things well in hand. So, with a major effort of will, I began to relax a bit (although I don’t think I, er, let go of the seat, if you get my meanin’).

Then, just when I was (almost) able to breathe normally again – that’s when it happened.

As we zipped through one of the particularly narrow spots between a stone wall on the right and one of those previously mentioned light poles on the left, I heard a sudden sharp thump as our left mirror didn’t – quite – make it past that pole! Understand now; we never slowed down at all.

From the back seat, I could see my driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror, and to this day I’ll never forget his reaction. I looked at him, and he looked at me. Then, without cracking an expression of any kind, he briefly raised an eyebrow. Then, of course, his face immediately went back to its normal imperturbable expression as we kept on going. Yep, that was the extent of his visible emotion!

I’ll tell ya, folks, I’ve never forget that moment. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. And come to think of it, it was… inspirational!

I mean, here was a guy who was good – really good – at what he does. It reminded me of the old Pony Express – nothing was gonna stop this guy from delivering the goods (even if the “goods” was little ol’ me). He knew how to focus on the job at hand and get it done!

So next time you find yourself facing a challenging goal, take a lesson from my former driver. Focus on your goal and fasten your seatbelt. Then take a deep breath and clench those cheeks, Bubba…

Then floor it!

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Peaceful Memories

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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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The Road to Prosperity

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Somewhere in central South CarolinaEver feel like you’ve missed the road to prosperity? Yeah, sometimes it feels that way to me, too. In fact, once I had the chance to make the turn – but passed it by. (Cue rimshot: ba-da-bing!

(In case you’re wondering, the road to Prosperity is in South Carolina, off Interstate 26, not too far from Columbia. Just sayin’.)

Yeah, I know. Sadly, these days quite a few folks are lookin’ for that opportunity to come knocking on our doors. And I’m not talking about having the next winning lottery ticket come floating in the window, either – although it makes for a nice daydream… No, they’re actually looking for the chance to, y’know do something.

See, I know what it’s like to have things swept out from under you; things like a job, a bank account, and perhaps even a direction in life. More times than I’d like to admit. But hey, who ever said life is supposed to be fair? It happens. The most important thing, though, is what happens after that. You know what I mean, right? It’s what comes next that really defines who you are.

So, just for the fun of it, let’s take a quickie test. Let’s say that life has suddenly taken a turn for the worse and the giant bluebird of happiness has just, ahem, pooped on your parade, if you know what I mean.

Would you:

a)   throw a tantrum
b)   blame “the system”
c)   demand somebody, y’know, do something
d)  try again, or try something else.

Now, chances are, if you are taking the time to read this, I would be willing to bet your answer is very likely d) try again, or try something else. Well… I’m afraid you’d only be part right. The real answer is e) all of the above. (Yes, it was a trick question. Please don’t sue me. I have nothing.)

In fact, every time I’ve experienced a sudden change in fortunes (meanin’ a downward change, of course – it’s not likely many folks would be too upset about an upward change in fortune), I’ve had to work my way through pretty much all of those reactions. (Surely you remember the stages of grief?) Hey, it’s the way we’re made, after all.

But the problem isn’t the struggle we experience while shuffling through those times. Nope, that’s not the point at all. After all, if you’re, y’know, alive, then it’s pretty much a given that life will occasionally hand you lemons. No, the thing that separates us from the herd is what we do choose to do with those lemons. And if you don’t make it all the way from a) through d) and on to e) – well, you missed it.

I gotta admit; it’s very, very tempting to sorta “hole up” at any one of those early stages. After all, wallowing in self-pity does bring its own strange kind of satisfaction. The only problem is, it gets you absolutely nowhere. You can’t actually solve anything while you’re there. I know; I’ve tried.

Nope, the only thing that really works is to get out there and try again. Or, if you’ve tried whatever it is you’ve been trying enough, then go for something different. (You remember the definition of insanity, don’t you?) Trust me; it’s the only thing that really works.

So, will you finally make it to Prosperity – or at least, on the road to Prosperity? Alas, that’s not for me to say. But I will say this: you’ll never make it if you don’t try for it.

I’m just sayin’.

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Happy New Year 2011

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Since this is the first post of a brand new year, it’s only fitting to first reflect a bit on things just passed before we take a look towards the future, don’cha think? Tradition, you know.

So let’s start with a little, um, thing that happened just last week.

Lights! Action!

If you’re like many of us, you’ve recently celebrated the birth of Christ on December 25th. (I know it may come as a shocker to some, but He really IS the reason for the season, y’know. Just sayin’.) AND, at least here in the “Western” world, today marks the first day of a brand new year. (Yeah, I know the Asian world won’t celebrate New Year’s for a few more weeks. “Close enough”, I say.)

Anyhoo, I don’t know about you, but during the Christmas season some of the things Mrs. MZM and I look forward to the most are the Christmas music, the special Christmas events, and especially the Christmas Pageants, particularly at our local churches, large and small. I’m tellin’ ya; we’ve seen (and been a part of) some that are as good as or better than anything you’d find on Broadway. (Well, at least off-Broadway quality, anyway.)

In fact, we went to one of those “big production” pageants just before Christmas at a large church near us. It was quite a show, I’ll tell ya! The highlight was, during one musical number commemorating the arrival of the Wise Men (or, as I prefer to call ‘em, the “Wise Guys”), the three of them rode in on genuine, real live camels and an elephant! Yup – an elephant strolled right across the stage. Wow. (The engineer in me couldn’t help but wonder if they’d performed a weight distribution calculation on that wooden floor. No worries, though; nothing collapsed. But I digress.)

The elephant, of course, was the most impressive part of the entire pageant. He strolled majestically to the center of the stage like the king of all land creatures that he was, and then paused for his rider to disembark. As soon as that was accomplished, he performed for us a little, raising his trunk and one leg towards the audience as if to say, “hey lookit me!” I suppose it’s the elephant equivalent of a curtsey. The audience was very appreciative; it earned him a round of applause for a great job. Way to go, Bubba!

Gravity – “It’s the Law!”

Well, that’s when it happened.

After our friend the elephant little gave his little performance, his handler gave him his cue and he headed off towards the exit at stage right. Unfortunately, as he turned around it became obvious for all to see that his leg and trunk weren’t the, er, only things he’d raised, if you get my meanin’. Yep, that’s right – he had his tail raised too. And if you’ve ever been around animals of any kind, you know what that means, right? Yessir – when that tail goes up – something, er, else generally comes down. It’s like, gravity. And yep, that’s exactly what happened!

There came a collective “uh-oh” from the audience as, at right about the same moment we all realized just exactly what was about to happen. That poor elephant! Instead of applause for a job well done, this particular job instead earned a clearly audible gasp (and more than a few horrified screams) and a resounding “eww-yuk!” from everyone. I’m tellin’ ya; for once Mrs. MZM and I were thrilled – absolutely thrilled – to be at the back of the auditorium!

Y’know, it’s a cryin’ shame, too. All the work and time those folks put into that production – the writing, the music, the rehearsals, the costumes – it was a gargantuan effort, to be sure. But the sad fact is (at least for those of us who attended this one particular performance), ten years from now when we recall this pageant, this is what we’ll remember!

Probably Not What You Expected

So along about now you may be asking, “Uh, what the heck has that previous – and somewhat disgusting – story have to do with the New Year?” Well, that’s a doggone good question!

Here’s the thing.

Over the years I’ve jokingly said many times the phrase I plan to have emblazoned on my tombstone when I kick the ol’ bucket is, “Y’know, things didn’t quite work out like I’d planned!” (Actually, I’m only half-joking.)

Still, it never ceases to amaze me how differently things always seem to work out from what I, in my mind at least, think should be the “ideal”. You know what I mean, right? It’s been my experience that, no matter how well I’ve mapped out my future, there’s always something – or someone – that comes along and throws a monkey wrench in the works; stuff I simply can’t plan for.

Let’s see… I know there’s a technical term for it… wait, wait… it’s coming clearer… Ah yes! I think it’s called, uh, life.

Plan Accordingly

All I’m sayin’ is, hey, it’s a brand new year! It’s really all right to make your plans. After all, plans are good. Plans are necessary. Plans help keep things on track. In fact, it’s sorta like that image up there at the top of this post I titled “The Uncertain Future”. It’s a somewhat blurry photo of a corridor stretching out ahead. You can make out the walls, the floor, the line of light fixtures above, leading off into a possibly bright future. But at the same time – it ain’t all that clear, either.

Yeah, it’s sorta like that.

Hey, just remember this one thing: if you really want to be able to face the future in style, then Bubba, in all your planning, don’t forget to make allowances for life.

Yep; that’s the way to face the future, my friends. Be flexible when it comes to the unexpected. It’s the only way you’ll be able to roll with it and keep on keepin’ on, y’know? Just like that pageant. Did the unfortunate “elephant incident” stop the show? Not on your life! Folks just kept a careful eye on where they were steppin’ – and then kept right on walkin’.

Hey, I’ve known folks who seemed to know (or at least claimed to know) exactly where they were goin’ and what they’d be doin’ in the years ahead… and I gotta tell ya; folks like that irritate me to no end. Oh, it’s nothing personal, mind you. It’s just that after fifty-mumblemumble years, I’ve come to the sobering conclusion that there is absolutely nothing carved in stone about the future.

And there’s the lesson for the day year.

Happy New Year and a tip o’ the hat to ya!

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