Howdy, Bubba! Hey, if you're new around these parts, I just want to say how much I appreciate you dropping by! Oh, and you may want to subscribe to my feed. Thanks, and a tip o' the hat to ya!

On my way to a job interview in Grenoble, France (this was back in 2000), Mrs. MZM and I decided to take one of those new high-speed trains from Paris to Grenoble. We’d always wanted to see the beautiful scenery in southern France, and a train ride seemed to be just the ticket.

Gee, were we surprised! See, for the first few hours, I could swear (if my Momma hadn’t taught me not to) they must have put all the scenery somewhere else! I mean, sure, you’ve got your typical French countryside, all beautiful and everything – but there really wasn’t that much to actually see, if you know what I mean. Hey, to me, one picturesque vine-covered hillside looks pretty much like any other picturesque vine-covered hillside.

No, what I really wanted to see were the French Alps (remember, I’m from Houston, Texas, where the land is pretty much as flat as a plate!): we’re talkin’ majestic mountain vistas, distant snow-covered peaks, deep secluded valleys, the occasional French chateau – you know, scenery. Alas and darn, we didn’t start seeing mountains until just about the last hour or so of the trip; the part from Lyon to Grenoble.

But what made the trip really difficult (at least for us) was that the only seats left on the train were in a smoking car. Ugh! Hours of torture trying not to breathe put an unexpected damper on our enjoyment, to say the least.

The seating, though, was arranged such that pairs of passengers faced each other. It wasn’t long before the man sitting across from us noticed our discomfort (he could hardly miss it, I’m afraid). I noticed that he refrained from smoking out of consideration for us; it was an incredibly kind thing to do, to say the least!

We thanked him profusely, which turned into a lively conversation about places of interest in Grenoble (the cable car ride across the river and up the mountain was a must-see), a certain cooking school he recommended for dinner (the students love to cook for tourists – it was oo-la-la!), and a hilarious lesson on how to properly pronounce the name ‘Grenoble’ that went something like this:

“Grenoble,” I’d say.

“Ah, no,” he smiled tolerantly. “It’s pronounced ‘Grenoble’.”

“That’s what I said – ‘Grenoble’!”

“No, you said ‘Grenoble’. It’s ‘Grenoble’. Here, try it this way,” he said, exhibiting the patience of Job. “Say: ‘ble’, then ‘noble’, then ‘Grenoble’”. (This is an old trick, by the way; you pronounce the last syllable first, then add each successively earlier syllable until you get the whole word. It always usually works!)

“See the difference?” he asked.

“Oh, of course!” I said with sudden inspiration. “‘Grenoble’!”

At which point he didn’t, um, quite start pulling his hair out in frustration… but it was probably a near thing. Needless to say, this went on for some time…

But actually, we ended up spending a truly wonderful 45 minutes just visiting with him, right up until we pulled into the station. In fact, we were having such a great time – we actually forgot all about the overwhelming stench of stale cigarette smoke in the air!

Amazing! And to think, just a short time before it was literally impossible to ignore, overwhelming any enjoyment we might’ve gotten out of the trip. It was like telling someone, “Whatever you do, don’t think about pink elephants!”

But, by shifting our awareness onto, well, other things – we discovered we had completely forgotten about it! Mind you, nothing had physically changed – the smell didn’t just suddenly go away; the lingering odor on our clothes was proof of that.

No, what changed was our focus.

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!