CAN YOU HELP ME FINISH MAKING THIS …

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It was about 4:00 pm when the doorbell rang. It took us somewhat by surprise because we had only been in the house for a few days and weren’t expecting any guests. After all we were still unpacking stacks of boxes into our new home and were not prepared for visitors, unless they were coming to help unpack.

They weren’t.

But there they stood. A happy-looking couple. Probably in their early 70s. Each was holding something in their hands.

He had a small green plant in a small green plastic container. It looked very healthy. He looked at me and smiled.

She had a basket full of vegetables. Seriously, vegetables. Tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, squash and some of the orangest carrots I’d ever seen. The basket looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell illustration. Each item looked almost fake they looked so good. She looked at me and smiled.

“Hi,” I said. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. I’m Hu,” he said, still smiling. “Short for Hubert, but everybody just calls me Hu.”

“And I’m Lu,” she said, also still smiling. “Short for LuAnne, but everybody just calls me Lu.”

“We’re your neighbors from a couple doors down and we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Hu said, as he handed me the plant. “This is the Oxalis Deppei plant, or Iron Cross, for good luck. It’s from my garden.”

“And these,” said Lu, as she handed me the basket full of luscious vegetables, “are from our vegetable garden. The tomatoes are Brandywine heirlooms and they taste absolutely great on sandwiches. Everything is grown organically so you don’t have to worry.”

“Thank you,” I said. “This is so kind of you.”

“Well, we know you’ve got a lot of work to do yet, so we’ll be on our way,” said Hu. “I put my card in the vegetable basket, so if you need anything that you think I can help with, just drop by or give me a call.”

“And once again,” Lu said. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Both of them were still smiling as they left. I closed the front door and looked at my wife.

“That was Hu and Lu,” I said to her. “We’ve just been welcomed to the neighborhood with a good luck plant and a basket full of some of the best vegetables I’ve ever seen.”

That was more than five years ago.

Fast forward to last week. After the 4-1/2 ton snowfall that was dumped on our driveway (see Feb. 22 post). After we shoveled our driveway clean, we walked over to Hu and Lu’s home to give Hu a hand with his shoveling. He was giving it a valiant effort but it was obviously hard labor. Thank God their driveway was a lot shorter and narrower than ours. It took us about 40 minutes and he was, as always, grateful for our help and yes, still smiling.

He asked me if I could help him with something in the back yard.

My wife headed back home as Hu and I walked around to the back of his house.

There, in the middle of his back yard, were three balls of snow. Each, larger than the other.

“Can you help me finish making this snowman?” Hu asked, almost sheepishly.

“Ummm, sure,” I said, probably sounding confused.

“You see,” Hu said. “Lu really gets a kick out of snowmen, and whenever the snow is good for packing, I always come out and make one for her. Been doin’ since the first year we was married. But the snow is so heavy this time, and you may not have noticed, but I’m gettin’ a little older, and I just need some help before she gets home.”

“I’d be honored to help,” I told Hu.

Well, it took us some grunting and groaning, pushing and moaning, but in the end we had a classic, albeit really heavy, snowman. What was surprising to me, was how much fun Hu seemed to be having through it all. Believe me, it was not an easy task to build that snowman, but Hu kept smiling through it all.

“Thank you, Ed,” he said. “I don’t know how many winters I’ll have left on this earth, but I don’t want to miss one where my Lu doesn’t get her snowmen. Thank you.”

I don’t know exactly how many years it had been since I’d built a snowman, but I was beginning to think it had been way too many. I’ve lost some of the youthful innocence of having simple fun. Hu had not. And as I thought about the years we had been neighbors of Hu and Lu, I began to realize some of the lessons I had learned without ever being aware that I was learning them.

From the first day we met at our front door, to helping him build a snowman for his wife last week, Hu and Lu have unwittingly taught me much about living life joyfully. But there are three things that stand out.

When you meet someone for the first time, give them some of your best. And it doesn’t matter whether you ever see them again or you become good friends, the act of giving your best will make you feel better time and time again.

Smile. Often. I know that some people might worry about “smile lines” showing up on their faces later, but I would rather be blessed with the creases of smiles than be cursed with the furrows of frowns.

No matter how old you get, never forsake the simple fun of your youth. Make snow angels. Jump in a pile of freshly raked autumn leaves. Make a dandelion necklace and wear it. Swing gently on a swing. Roast marshmallows on a stick. Carry your lunch to work in an old-school style lunch box. Remember the simple things you had fun doing as a kid, and continue doing them.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY THE MOST BESTEST IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD, EVER!

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“Hey Larry, could you pass me some more cardboard?”

“Absolutely, Jim. This might be the best snack I think I’ve ever eaten.”

“You mean, even more than the congealed beach sand with recycled shredded newsprint we ate yesterday?”

“Yeah, that was real good. But this new cardboard seems to have just the right balance of slurry, coagulants and polymers. And I really like the Japanese maple leaf mulch seasoning. I mean how do they come up with delicacies like this?”

“Careful, Larry, you’ve got some crumbs on your khaki shirt and if you don’t brush it off right away it’ll blend right in.”

“You got any of that dust-bunny pudding your wife makes. Man, I really like that dessert.”

“Well, I don’t have any of her pudding but I do have a few of her organic red clay brownies if you want one.”

“Man, can you believe how well we eat since we’ve joined this company?”

“I know, and later today we're scheduled to taste something made with real stuff.”

“Sometimes I think we’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Later in the marketing department.

“Hey Phyllis, have you tasted the new chips they want us to write about?”

“Not yet Jack, but the taste testers are absolutely raving about it.”

“Well, I don’t see why we need to eat any since the paid taste professionals are giving it their all thumbs up.”

“Right Jack, besides I’m already on that new grapefruit pith diet. We’ll just go with their assessment.”

I can only imagine that these are the kinds of conversations that must go on with some of the people at a certain nameless snack company whose product I recently tried. It was a potato chip flavored “with real spinach, artichokes and olive oil.”

Now, I like artichoke and spinach dip, ever since my eldest daughter introduced it to me at the Fizz bar in Chicago. They call it Artichoke and Spinach Fondue and it is really, really good.

So when I picked up this bag of “all natural” potato chips and read the back of the bag blurb, I thought I’ve got to have some of this. What it said was, “…it is the most flavorful snack you will ever experience.”

So my first thought is, they’ve somehow managed to marry the flavor of Fizz’s fondue and a potato chip. But not only that, they’ve managed to taste all flavorful snacks from everywhere around the globe, determined what is the absolute best of the absolute best, and arrived at “the most flavorful snack you will ever experience.”

Plus they put it in a nice big, colorful bag with good fresh-looking depictions of an artichoke and spinach leaves.

How could I go wrong?

Simple.

Before I tasted their “most flavorful snack [ I ] will ever experience”, I made some very wrong assumptions.

First, I assumed that the people who had developed the taste of their chip must have tasted real food that was actually tasty. After all, they used the words “flavorful snack.”

Second, that the individuals who had written the copy on the back of their bag had not only actually tasted the chips in question, but had also tasted other foods to provide them with real-world comparisons.

Third, that the copywriters were honest in their evaluation of the product

Fourth, that they understood when to, and when not to, use hyperbole. Of course, a sub-assumption here is that they understood what hyperbole is.

And finally, that just because “the most flavorful snack you will ever experience” was on the 50% clearance table, didn’t mean it didn’t taste good, it could mean that it was a promotional or introductory price. (Ignoring of course that it was on the “clearance” table.)

So what are we to learn from this?

Simple.

When you see words like most or best, coupled with the word “ever”, it’s a fairly good bet that it’s not true. The exception of course can be found in the following sentence: “The Eclectic Chalkboard is the best blog on tips and tricks for living the greatest eclectic life ever.”

Thanks for reading and invite your family and friends to join in.

DO YOU KEEP WAITING OR DO YOU DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT …

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“Hey, Barry, every day I see you come out to the end of your dock, sit and stare at that boat for hours on end,” I said. “How come?”

“Oh, just waiting,” he said. “It should be any day now.”

Another two weeks passed and every day, Barry was out there, sitting on his dock on the bay.

Meanwhile, his twin brother, Perry, had started building another dock, about thirty feet from Barry’s. Every day, he would add about another five feet to the dock length. When his dock was about two-and-a-half times the length of his brother’s my curiosity got the better of me.

“Mornin’ Perry,” I said. “What’s up with the long dock?”

“Well,” Perry started, “you know how Barry and I used to sit together on his dock?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I asked him a couple of weeks ago why he was doing it and he just said he was waiting.”

“I guess you could say we were waiting for our ship to come in,” Perry said. “I got tired of waiting with nothing really happening. Our ship didn’t seem like it was coming in, so I decided to build my dock out to it. In about a week or so, I should be sailing off.”

TOP TEN POSSIBILITIES FOUND LINGERING IN MY DIGITAL RECORDER

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“Stop talking before you say something dumb.

“Oh no too late,” ~ thus spake Happy Bunny.

“There’s no such thing as ‘writers block’, there is only … no, wait, don’t tell me … there is ooonnnlyyyy …”

“Wow, Mr. E., your dishes are really shiny. Are they new?”

“Perhaps today I’ll find the next great American story in the Home Depot parking lot.”

“So what you’re telling me is that to participate in this full-30-day no-obligation free trial, I just have to give you my personal information, a credit card number, agree to pay a nominal shipping/handling/processing fee (hence the need for my credit card number), and if I decide I do not want your service I have to notify you in writing within 30 days, otherwise you will automatically bill me for the first quarterly installment?”

“Does it hurt to be so fat, mommy?”

“She was a dark and stormy knight.”

“Well I wouldn’t have hit her if she hadn’t been riding her bike in front of my car.”

“A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent”

“And do you feel you have been rehabilitated?”

And the winner is …

My dishes continue to remain new looking, despite more than ten years of daily use, is because I hand wash them in warm water with Dawn dish soap, I only use a non-abrasive scrubbing sponge, I rinse them individually in hot water until I feel the squeak, and I hand dry them with an all-cotton cloth.

IF YOU WANT TO GET SOMETHING DONE …

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I like duct tape. There, I said it. I mean, I really like duct tape. I like the way it looks. I like the way it feels. I like the way it smells. I like the way it sounds. And I really like the way it tastes. Especially when it’s hot and melty, sticky and zelty. (I know, zelty isn’t really a word but I wanted something to rhyme with melty. Yes, I know, melty isn’t really a word either but I was already committed to zelty so …) Where was I? Oh, right, duct tape.

I’m sorry, did I say duct tape? I meant to say pizza. I really like pizza. I like the way pizza looks, feels, smells, sounds and tastes. And I especially like fresh, handmade pizza.

I recently was enjoying a deep-dish “supreme” pizza, and after about my seventh piece (I like to cut them into bite-size pieces just to watch people’s faces when I tell them I ate around 15 pieces of pizza for lunch), I had a revelation about one of the idiosyncrasies of time management.

There is a saying that “if you want to get something done, give it to a busy person.” This is because the busy person doesn’t have time to waste. He or she tends to maximize the minutes of their days whereas the average person tends to think in terms of hours. One sees 480 units of time to manage, the other sees eight chunks to get through. One manages, the other muddles. One attacks, the other avoids. One pursues, the other ponders.

With apologies to Ben Franklin, I leave you with this: Watch the minutes and the hours will take care of themselves.

DO YOU STAND BY THE TREE OR COME UP TO THE DOOR

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“Honey, I think Bob’s here.”

“Is it Bob or George?”

“Well, I think it’s Bob, but I’m not sure. They all look alike to me.”

“George is a little darker.”

“I don’t know. Darker? Lighter? They’re pretty much the same.”

“Well, is he staying by the tree or coming up to the door?”

“He’s sort of in between the two, just standing there.”

“Has he seen you?”

“How would I know? It’s not like he’s standing there waving at me. He’s just standing there. Looking at the house.”

“So walk to the door so he can see you.”

“I’m sure he sees me but he’s still just standing there.”

“Did you unlock the door?”

“I’m doing it now.”

“What did he do?”

“He went back by the tree.”

“That’s George. He doesn’t like to come to the door. He wants you to go out to him.”

“No, he wants you to go out to him. He doesn’t really know me.”

“Okay. I’m coming.”

“Well good morning George. How are you?”

George says nothing. Just stands there by the tree, waiting.

“Want some Cheerios, George?”

Still, just stands there silently, waiting.

“Here you go, George. Enjoy.”

George takes his Cheerios, sits and eats by the tree, saying nothing. When he finishes, he leaves.

Next day.

“Honey, Bob’s here.”

“How do you know it’s Bob?”

“Because he’s coming right up to the door, looking in and waiting.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“He’s knocking on the glass.”

“Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“You want me to talk to him? I don’t think so. He likes it when you talk to him.”

“I’m coming.”

“Hey Bob. Wanna peanut?”

Bob puts out his hand and takes the peanut, making quick nothing of the shell and popping the treat in his mouth.

He puts his hand on my knee.

“Want another one?”

He did, and made short order of that one as well.

Bob will typically go through between five and ten peanuts before he leaves. And after each one he politely taps me on the knee and waits.

I never thought I’d feed squirrels on our back patio, much less know the difference between a couple of them or give them names. Bob was, of course, my favorite. He was tame enough to come right up and sit next to me, waiting for his treat. He also ate a lot more treats than George, mainly because he was willing to risk coming up to the door, knock, and wait. And that was the cutest part of Bob. He would wait in the tree until he would see us moving in the kitchen, and would come up to the patio door, stand upright on the glass, and actually “knock” on the door with one of his paws until we opened the door to give him his peanut. So cute.

So what is life’s little lesson in this tale of animal endearment?

Heck if I know. I just thought it was a cute story worth sharing.

Oh wait. Right. That’s the lesson.

Sometimes, “cute” is just as worthy of sharing as “profound.”

That’s the lesson?

Okay, how about this …

If you want to eat better in life, don’t just stand by the tree. Walk up to that door of opportunity, knock and wait for your treat.

How’s that?

WHEN IT’S HEAVY, MAYBE YOU SHOULD CALL SOMEONE...

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It was a particularly heavy snow this morning. About six to seven inches of the stuff made the rear view through our crystal clear patio doors look absolutely beautiful. Winter's usually naked trees and brush now standing gloriously clothed in magnificent, angelic radiance. Proudly posing for picture postcard perfection.

Of course, no such snow-covered splendor could go without running to our front yard to revel in its majesty as well.

And there it was. Our front yard. You know, that part of the yard that includes our driveway. Our rather long and wide driveway. Now looking even longer and wider than usual. The driveway with that 19-3/4 inches worth of snow-plowed slush, mush and ice so considerately placed at the end of our driveway by our local snow-plow driver. An otherwise fine young man I'm sure.

As if to drive the point home as to how heavy the snow was, a branch came crashing down into the pristine snowscape with a reality-deafening thud.

No problem. I'll just fire up the trusty old snowthrower and ... problem. Our trusty old snowthrower gave up its heroic ghost recently so we've been using snow shovels.

Still, how bad could it be? We've shoveled eight inches of snow before.

Another branch came crashing down, gasping as it bore through the white stuff to stop with limb-shattering numbness on the black asphalt.

My wife said, "Maybe you should call someone."

Good idea I thought. I called my buddy Ken who was in his fourth year at college. Strong guy, kind of a math geek, but always willing to help out. I asked him how much weight were we likely going to be shoveling today.

He did the math. Here's the numbers rounded down. Five hundred and forty cubic feet of snow-covered driveway, multiplied by the estimated 18 pounds of equivalent water-weight per cubic foot meant we were going to be shoveling approximately 4-1/2 tons of snow by weight.

EXCUSE ME?!??

"Did you say, four and half TONS?!?" I asked. "TONS??!!" I repeated rather loudly. "You do realize we're using shovels, don't you?"

He said, "Maybe you should call someone."

I called my daughter. The one who has a degree in philosophy. "Have you seen the snow yet this morning?" I asked her.

"Yes. It looks fun, but I think you got more out there than we got in the city. You guys got like eight inches?"

"It's between six and seven," I said. "So, how much do you think it weighs?"

"How much it weighs?" she repeated.

"Yeah. How much it weighs? We've got about five hundred and forty cubic feet of snow on the driveway and..."

She interrupted. "Did you just say five hundred and forty cubic feet of snow? HOW much snow did you guys get?"

"Like I said, between six and seven inches. The driveway's about eighteen feet wide by fifty feet long and when you cube it with the snow depth we've got about five hundred and forty cubic feet of snow. But anyway, my question was, how much do you think it weighs?"

"Five hundred cubic feet of snow and you want me to guess how much it weighs," she said. "Dad, I'm a philosopher. Maybe I could tell you what the snow was thinking, or possibly how the driveway felt, but maybe you should call someone to get the weight answer."

"I already did," I said. "I called Kenny at college. He said it's around four and half TONS. We gotta shovel about four and a half TONS of snow this morning."

"Do you need help?" she asked, I'm sure quite rhetorically. "Maybe you should call someone."

My phone beeped, telling me I had a call waiting. "I'll talk to you later," I said to my daughter. "I've got someone calling in."

"Good morning, this is Mr. Eclectic. Do you know how much snow I have to shovel this morning?" I said rather cheerily.

"Yeah," the somewhat breathy voice said, "About forty cubic feet less than we started with this morning. Get off the phone and get your ass out here and help me shovel." Gone was the sexy breathy voice that began the phone conversation. In its place was the five hundred cubic feet of snow that needed to be shoveled, NOW, voice. (Although I must admit, it was still kind of sexy).

It took us about three and a half hours and let me tell you, four and half tons spread out over 900 square feet is still very, VERY heavy snow.

So what's today's tip?

Easy, when you have a heavy task in front of you, sometimes it's good to call someone. To ask for their help. Not just to talk about the heaviness of it all.

Really, ask for help.