[(sound of radio hum and persistent static) We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this Special Announcement. Please do not attempt to adjust your screens. The problem is not with your monitor.]

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A Big Announcement

First – the BIG Announcement: Today’s entry marks post number – wait for it – 1,000 here at the Middle Zone! (sound of vast crowd cheering enthusiastically; roll out the proverbial red carpet; cue the band; cue the fireworks)

I mean, who woulda thunk it? Not me, that’s for sure!

To be honest (something we always strive for here at the Zone), I really had no lifelong aspirations to become a world-famous millionaire blogger/writer, I’ll tell ya. That’s right: zip, zero, nada. In fact, ‘way back in June of ’06 (practically pre-historic days in Internet time) when I posted my first profound thoughts measly chicken-scratchings, the ONLY reason I did it at all was simply to “try this weird, crazy bloggin’ thang out”, if you get my meanin’.

(Er, as to that “world-famous millionaire blogger/writer” bit… I think I can say with confidence that over the last 4.5193 years of blood, sweat and tears, working my fingers to the bone and the little ol’ gray cells into exhaustion, I’ve managed to achieve at least two out of those three descriptives. It should be obvious to all exactly which two have been accomplished.)

So how does one celebrate 1,000 posts, anyway? Why, by doing something special of course!

Now for me, “something special” usually involves, well, pie – preferably with a big ol’ scoop of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream right up there on top. However, today I decided to do something completely different (miraculously involving no calories whatsoever) and submit an entry for Joanna Patterson’s group writing project instead. All month she’s been running her “The Gift of Blogging Confidence” group writing project over at Confident Writing. Since I haven’t participated in a GWP in quite some time, I thought this would be a great opportunity to jump back into the fray.

[We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming. (sound of static fades away) And what the hey; why don’cha go have yourself a Slurpee?]

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Look, Ma; I’m A Writer!

Well, I’ll tell ya; blogging over the years has certainly been the source of some surprising turns of events. I’ve had the opportunity to meet some really fantastic folks, read great thoughts on practically anything you care to name (and let’s face it; “one or two” not-so-great thoughts, too), and gained exposure to some truly amazing, well, stuff. I mean, there’s practically no end to the things there are to learn “out there” these days, is there? You know.

As for yours truly, well, blogging has given me a remarkable measure of confidence I never knew I had. After all, when it comes to recording your own thoughts and sending them out to the world… well, it takes a certain level of chutzpah, don’cha think? Why, the very idea that someone else out there would conceivably care what I think – about anything – I mean, sheesh, who knew?

The thing is, writing is something I always thought I’d be good at, even back when I was a kid. It’s just that, up until a few years ago, I simply didn’t actually, y’know, do it on a regular basis. Howsomever, once I began writing more-or-less regular-like here at the Zone, well, the rest is, as they say, history.

But if there’s one gift blogging has given me – and believe me when I say it’s one I never saw comin’ – well, that would have to be (sound of drumroll and rimshot) poetry.

Look Ma; Now I’m a Poet, Too!

Yep, now I’m not only a writer – I’m a poet, too; a statement to which my mind can’t help but respond: Uh, now how heck did that happen? Truth be told, I can barely even relate to most poetry out there. So why on earth would I start writing any of my own, much less publishing it “out there” for anyone to see and (sound of terrified scream) critique?

Not to mention, as this photo illustrates, the sheer, unmitigated agony of the bane of existence of poets everywhere: “the search for the perfect word”. (With apologies to Joyce Kilmer. – Ed.)

So how did it happen, you ask? Well, in a word – confidence! Yep, it’s that confidence I picked up from practicing what I normally do. And after doing it long enough, I finally began to think outside the box and try something different.

Oh, don’t get me wrong – I very carefully make no claims to bein’ a good poet. But I honestly think I’m learnin’ a thing or two every time one falls out onto the screen. Hey, who knows; maybe my feet really do show it? *

Poetic Moments at the Middle Zone

So for your reading pleasure torture edification whatever, here are the links to all my (insert appropriate descriptive here) poetry posts that appear here in the Middle Zone. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know how you liked them. I’d truly like to know!

First of all, here are five very short poems (written in *ahem* free verse – which, let’s be honest, is just a fancified way of sayin’ “Hey, there ain’t no rhyme or reason to this stuff!”) for a writing project sponsored by the inimitable Liz Strauss wherin each entry is limited to exactly 25 words:

• Watched
• They Were Wrong!
• Horizons
• Somersault
• Clueless

Then, since it’s poetry after all, I decided to try my hand at, y’know, actually rhyming something. (Yes, I know all poetry doesn’t have to rhyme. Still have trouble thinking that way. Just sayin’.) Interestingly enough, it seems my own photos turned out to be my greatest resource when it comes to the ol’ Muse’s poetic ramblings. Thus, my photo of a pair of spiky sycamore tree seed pods inspired this poem about my childhood days:

• Spiky Balls

Oddly enough, my two latest poems were inspired by photos of the same subject: the morning dew:

• Morning Dew
• Fallen Starlight

So what’s next, you ask? The Great American Novel? A Nobel-Prize-worthy essay? The next volume of The Toilet Time Reader? Heck, who knows? My advice is (for you and for me), let’s make sure to remain open to the possibilities. Hey, you never know what surprising little gift might next come down the pike!

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[* By the way, on the remote chance you have no idea what that sentence refers to, it’s a little rhyme I learned years ago (and therefore assume most folks have heard in one form or another), to wit: “Hey, he’s a poet! He didn’t know it; but his feet show it – they’re Longfellows!” (sound of rimshot)]

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Wow, I bet that got your attention, didn’t it?

The Mrs. and I were checkin’ out a junk store antique shop a few weeks ago, and I happened to run across a pile of old magazines. Idly flipping through them, I was rather taken aback by the title of the main article on this cover of Look Magazine, dated February 2, 1960:

“SHOULD A GIRL BE FIRST IN SPACE?”

Well, I guess back then you could never accuse magazine editors of bein’, y’know, subtle. Surely, I thought to myself, these guys have learned something over the years.

Don’t Call Me Shirley!

A quick Wikipedia search (altogether now: what did we ever do before the internet came along?) revealed that lady on the cover is none other than Betty Skelton, one of the most amazing women of the day ever.

I had to chuckle a bit at that word, ‘girl’, though. I rather imagine if you called her that today, you’d better keep an eye over your shoulder because she’d likely climb into one of the 10 corvettes she used to set speed records with and lay a few track marks across your face. Just sayin’.

Although the whole article is definitely worth a read (it won’t take long, I promise), the opening summary quite succinctly says a lot: “Betty Skelton Frankman Erde (Note: link to Wikipedia article) (born June 28, 1926) is a retired land speed record car driver and acrobatic airplane pilot who set 17 aviation and automobile records, was known as “the First Lady of Firsts”, and helped create opportunities for women in aviation, auto racing, astronautics and advertising.”

Now there’s a summary for ya! In other words, she gave new meaning to the term “Fast Lady”! And, although she underwent the exact same training the Mercury astronauts went through (it was done at the request of Look Magazine specifically for this issue), she was never actually an astronaut. Which, if you think about it, is a sad commentary on the Way Things Were at the time.

On the other hand, it does bring up the subject of… barriers.

Barriers: Some Real and Some… Not So Much

Unfortunately, there were barriers to women back then that even one as talented and accomplished as Betty couldn’t break down. On the other hand (where did I get all these hands?), were I a bettin’ man, I’d bet you, oh, about a bazillion donuts she was a factor in the eventual acceptance of women in the Astronaut Corps (and a lot of other places, too).

Nevertheless, the wiki article did get me to thinkin’ (sound of grinding gears)…

When I was a kid, there were a lot of things I couldn’t do. You remember what it was like, don’cha? For instance (just to name three) I couldn’t drive a car (I was too young), I couldn’t understand physics (I hadn’t accumulated enough scientific knowledgeable) and, once I got a car, I couldn’t get a date (sadly, I had little or no social skills luck whatever with the fairer half of the population *sigh*).

See, some barriers are truly, well, for lack of a better term, real. Age, for example. In that case, there’s nothing you can do about that kind of barrier except wait for it to fall in its own good time. Hey, I had to grow up eventually, right? (Well, there were a few major boners I pulled when I was young that probably had my parents wonderin’ about that one. But I digress.)

On the other hand, many other kinds of barriers (such as that lack of knowledge I mentioned above) are more a product of how I thought of myself. Once again, though, how to overcome such a barrier was obvious: I needed to work harder and learn more! In other words, it was up to me.

Where’s That Barrier Now?

Over the course of my life many other barriers have fallen, too. For instance, I used to think I couldn’t write. Well, as I’ve discovered over the last few years, obviously that’s not a problem anymore. Although it didn’t happen overnight, with much time, effort, and the sweat of my brow, I now claim to be a writer because, well, I write, right?

But here’s the thing. If I were, for instance, to still insist I couldn’t write… Well, what would have happened is that particular barrier, which may have once been real, if you get my meanin’, is now simply imagined. See the difference? The fact that the barrier once actually existed always made a great excuse. Hey, I could always claim forces outside my control, y’know? (sound of millions of us shouting, “It’s not my fault!”) But now that it’s gone, well, why would I want to leave it hangin’, if you know what I mean?

The good news, though, is lots of other use-to-be-barriers are gone, too. The question, though, is, have I been paying attention? That leads me to another question: I wonder what other barriers aren’t there anymore?  Which of course leads up that all important final follow-up question: What barriers used to hold me back but now are gone and I now longer have excuse?

I wonder… what barriers used to hold you back – but aren’t there any more?

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Some evenings ago, as the last of the day’s clear light began to wane, the Mrs. and I spent a short time outside on our patio, breathing in the wonderfully mild Fall weather. After spending a companionable few moments enjoying an almost magic, whispering silence, our reverie was rudely interrupted by this little scene playing out at the very top of a tall pine tree a few houses away.

Shattered Silence

The bird at the top right is a crow, easily identifiable by his distinctive cry. (sound of “caw, caw, caw”) The little guy at the bottom left is a Mockingbird, and I could clearly hear him respond (in an easily-imagined New York Cabbie accent) the bird equivalent of “Hey, who ya t’ink ya talkin’ to, Tiny?” (After all, they are mocking birds, y’know. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Er, sorry.)

Anyway, these two seemed to be having quite a noisy disagreement about who got to sit on this old dead limb, I’ll tell ya! Apparently, the Mockingbird was lettin’ that crow know, and in no uncertain terms, “Dis tree ain’t big enough for da both of us!”

This went of for a few more minutes, then apparently enduring one too many insults, the Mockingbird suddenly flew up and attacked the much bigger crow, driving him from his perch! Wow, talk about a feisty little fellah! That crow mustered what dignity he had left (because, y’know, dignity is so important to birds *rolls eyes*) and decided he’d had enough. As the two of them flew off into the sunset, that Mockingbird continued to harass the defeated crow, flying circles around him and chirping as if to shout, “An’ I don’t wanna see youse around here again, ya big turkey!”

After they left, peace and quiet once again reigned over the land.

Question of the Day

When was the last time you took on something bigger than yourself?

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Fallen Starlight

Beads of fallen starlight

From waning evening’s trace;

Delicately lay upon

A garden’s upturned face.

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Fleeting are their kisses,

Like the sweetest of champagne;

Such tiny gems: night’s tears of joy –

What Breath of Life contain!

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Unite in praise of Heaven for

Their delicate delight,

Whose substance, though yet fleeting –

Whose mem’ry lodges bright –

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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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