IS IT A MULTI-TOOL OR A MULTI-FOOD …

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I’ve been using it and eating it for years. It is as much a utilitarian tool as it is a tantalizing treat. Some have said it has no redeeming value, that it’s an empty food not worth the time, money or energy it takes to eat it. But obviously, those are the kind of people who probably think that gruel-covered garden slugs with Tabasco® sauce are mouthwatering delicacies. Others have decried its use as a multi-tool of sorts, simply because it tends to be so disposable after each use.

But consider just some of its many uses before condemning this humble and handy helper.

It makes a great nail holder when you really want to avoid smashing your thumb again.

It works marvelously as a toe-separator when putting on nail polish.

It stands in as a stain-preventer by plugging the tip of an ice-cream cone, thereby avoiding the drips that can ruin your clothes.

It was used as a psychology researcher’s test at Stanford University, to determine the effects of immediate versus delayed gratification.

It serves well as a boredom avoidance device by playing numerous games and challenges with it.

It has been effectively and entertainingly used by a physics teacher to calculate the speed of light.

It has provided comfort as a temporary pillow.

It is a simple but appreciated candle holder, especially of birthday candles on cake.

I’ve watched it used in a good game of checkers.

And those are just some of its non-food uses.

As to its uses in foods, well, no one really knows the many ways it has been used.

But my top two favorites are simply raw or fire-roasted.

And at only twenty-five calories each, I can thoroughly enjoy four of them and not blow any eating plan.

From individually hand-formed to commercially mass-produced, they are good 99% of the time.

And my favorite brand? Kraft® Jet-Puffed® Marshmallows.

Hmmmmmmmm, fire-roasted marshmallows.

Sorry. Gotta go build a fire now.

IF A TREE CRIES, DOES IT HAVE ANY FRIENDS WHO WILL HEAR IT …

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I heard yesterday that the average American male has “less than one” true friend. The kind of friend with whom he is bluntly honest and openly vulnerable. The kind of friend with whom he is free to admit that he is lonely, or afraid, or at the end of his rope, or whatever else might make him appear to be “weak.”

Oh, he has friends with whom to go fishing or to a ball game. Plenty of guys with whom to go out drinking or eating. Men from whom he is free to ask to borrow a tool or to lend a hand with some manly task or another.

But friendship that exposes his raw emotions that might show his fear or loneliness? “Less than one.”

So permit me to share the following worth thinking about:

“A friend is one before whom I may think aloud.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

THE UNIVERSE IS LISTENING. WHAT WILL YOU SAY …

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I like to think that I live a life of gratitude. But recently, a wise friend of mine brought to my attention just how much I have to be grateful for.

“So E,” he began, “I’m doing a workshop on gratitude and I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Absolutely,” I told him. “Happy to help any way I can.” Having given a lot of workshops myself, and as a writer with some graphic skill, I assumed it would be along those lines. “Just tell me what you need.”

He said he’d like some help with the graphics side mostly, designing the layout for the handouts and a little help with editing. He didn’t go into a lot of details then, he said he just wanted to give me a “heads up” that it was coming.

Our conversation drifted along hitting this topic and that. Sort of catching up on family news and stuff. Almost all in the form of questions that didn’t require much discussion in the answer.

Did I still like the Toyota? Was I doing any more painting? Any new books of interest I’d added to our library? How was our lawyer-daughter doing? Did I still like our long back yard? How were my workouts going on my gym machine?

It was a real hodge-podge of things he seemed to want to make small-talk about. My answers were, for the most part, very positive. And we talked for about an hour, nonchalantly changing topics almost every minute. But it felt very natural as we were going through it.

Then he looked at me with a very serious expression, and he asked, “How often do you express gratitude for all those things?”

“What?” I asked. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“When you first set up your gym machine, are you grateful you have it?” he said.

“Not really,” I told him. “It’s just there and I use it.”

“Or how about that Calphalon One cookware you always rave about. Do you ever express thankfulness for it and for how well it works?”

“Well, not any more,” I said, feeling a little weird.

“Or when you needed a new blade for your lawn mower, did you appreciate your ability to run up to the store and just buy one? And once you installed it, were you grateful for how much better it cut the grass?”

“Where are you going with this, Vic?” I asked.

“Most of us live lives of unrequited appreciation for what we have,” he said. “We have stuff, but we don’t really appreciate it on a daily basis. Or even a weekly basis. Heck, most of us are happy at the moment we get the thing, but then the thankfulness quickly fades into the background.”

I had to agree with him as I started thinking about all the answers I had given to all the questions he had asked earlier. Then he asked me to do an exercise just before I went to bed that night. For twenty-one minutes, write down everything, big and small, new and old, everything I could think of, maybe even things I hadn’t thought about in years, for which I was thankful.

So I did. And I was amazed.

By the end of the time, or maybe a little over the time, I had written down 287 things. Most of which I did not give much thought to or appreciation for any more. I was shocked, and maybe a little ashamed. There was too much I was taking for granted.

My life of gratitude got a big boost that night.

And I am grateful to Vic for the help.

IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO TELL WHAT TIME IT IS …

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We sat at the steel table and waited for Jake to be allowed in. John, the pastor who wanted me to meet with Jake, was to my left. Jake was a patient in the mental health institution for the criminally insane and John thought I might be able to “breakthrough” with the patient even though no one else had been able to.

Jake came to the table, looked at me, then at John, then back at me and said, “What time is it? Who are you? Why are you here?”

“It’s okay, Jake,” John said. “I asked him here to maybe talk with you, if that’s all right with you.”

Jake looked at me. “What time is it?”

“About 9:30,” I said.

“No,” he said sharply. “What time is it?”

“Um, it’s morning?” I said hesitantly, not sure what he was really asking.

“NO!” he said even more emphatically, and becoming visibly agitated. “What. Time. Is it?” The visiting room guards became more watchful, as if ready to spring into action if necessary.

I was about to say, “Summer,” when I held back. I looked intently into his eyes, trying to imagine what was locked in his mind and what he was truly asking.

Perhaps a half-minute passed, although it felt a lot longer, before I said, “It’s now, Jake.”

He stared back at me, his eyes relaxed only slightly as did the rest of his body.

“It’s always now in here,” he said, tapping on his forehead. “It’s never yesterday. It’s never tomorrow. It’s never breakfast is over, or lunch is next. It’s only now. It’s always now.” He was still looking, staring into my eyes, as if trying to figure out how I knew his answer. He pointed to my head and asked, "What time do you have?"

"I have now, Jake," I said.

For the next half hour or so, we had a rather philosophical, if not esoteric, discussion about time. Eventually we worked into a rather simple discussion about his treatment.

We left at 11:30.

“In three years,” John said, “Jake has never had that kind of discussion. With anyone. Not me. Not his counselors or therapists. No one. How did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just tried to answer his question.”

“But how did you know what he was really asking?”

“I didn’t, really,” I said. “But I knew he wasn’t asking what the time was. He wanted to know what the time is. God gave me the answer and I merely repeated it.”

Every now and again I remember that experience. Not for the breakthrough that Jake had but for the answer.

Time is now.

Memories are for what has passed. Plans are for what lies ahead. But today? Today is for living now. It’s the only time you have.

HOW MANY THOUGHTS DOES IT TAKE TO ILLUMINATE A LIGHT BULB …

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I stumbled upon a couple of interesting facts regarding the brain today and couldn’t resist sharing them with my readers, along with my appropriate marks and remarks.

First, the human brain supposedly has around 70,000 thoughts on an average day. As I was thinking about that, a number of thoughts occurred to me.

One was to determine how many thoughts per second that would work out to be. Sixty seconds per minute. Sixty minutes per hour. Twenty-four hours per day. That breaks down to approximately 1-1/4 thoughts per second. Awake or asleep, that brain of yours is cranking out more than a thought per second. I’m making no judgment as to the worth of those thoughts, but I think I can safely say that the overwhelming majority of them are not worth remembering. Especially since, well, we don’t remember them.

And the ones we do remember? Yeah, those are not particularly that good either.

Another thought I had about so much thinking, was how they managed to arrive at that number. And I imagined a scenario like this.

Bob walks into The Brain Research on American’s with Independent Noesis Place (or The BRAIN Place).

“Hi Doc,” he says.

The Doctor, with two extra digits on each hand and a rather large forehead with a wickedly receding hairline replies, “Hi Bob. Ready to get started?”

“You betcha Doc. Let’s do it.”

“Alrighty Bob. In three. Two. One. Go!”

“There’s one. There’s another one. No, wait, there were two at once then. And I just had four or five while I was talking. Four. No, Five. Definitely Five. And there’s one. Another one. Another one. Whoops. Two back then. Now six. Another one. Anoth…”

“Oh crap, Bob. I lost count. We’ll have to start over. Ready? And, go!”

“That’s one. Ditto. Another one. Ooh, three at once. Two more. Oops. Missed a couple. Now another one.”

“Sorry, Bob. Lost count again. Let’s do it again. And ready? Go!”

And so it went. Hour after hour. Day after day. Until after the research money was about to dry up and they still hadn’t come to an accurate count. So between the two of them, they just guessed about 70,000, never really bothering to do any corresponding math.

I’m not saying it did happen that way, but my brain likes that story much better than one with a bunch of techno-babble and science stuff. I mean really. First you have to define what a thought is, then come up with the means to measure it. It’s so much easier to imagine Bob and the Doc just going at it.

The second interesting fact I stumbled upon regarding the brain, was that the average brain produces enough energy to light up a 25-watt bulb.

Of course, the first thing I thought of after reading that was, “Heck, I know people who can’t light a candle, much less a 25-watt light bulb.”

So let’s revisit The BRAIN Place to imagine how that discovery was made.

Again, Bob walks into the Doc’s office. Suddenly the lights go out and they’re trapped in pitch black darkness. (Of course, it was darkness, because one does not get thrown into pitch black lightness, silly.)

The Doc stumbles around disoriented in the darkness. A thought occurs to him. “Maybe if I change the light bulb, it won’t be so dark in here.” (I said it was a thought. Not necessarily a good one.)

He picks up a 25-watt bulb, and still disoriented, begins to screw it into what he thinks is the socket.

It flickers a bit then shines brightly.

It was only then that the Doc realized he had screwed it into Bob’s ear, making a connection to his brain.

Or they could have measured the energy that zips and zaps inside our heads and compared it to a light bulb and found it was similar.

But I like my story better.

So remember these tidbits the next time someone says to you, “A penny for your thoughts.”

Ask them if that’s for a minute’s worth of thoughts or the day’s? A minute will cost them 75-cents. The day’s worth will run them $700.

At least, I think my math is right.

CAN YOU TELL A BOOK BY ITS COVER …

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We were discussing the finer points of making great first impressions when my friend, Clay, brought up an unusual consideration.

Cars.

“What?” a number of us said, almost in unison. “Cars?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Look, anyone can clean up and dress up to make a good face-to-face impression. But look at the cars they drive up with, and you can tell a lot about the care and concern they may likely bring to a new job.”

Clay was a vice president of personnel and was actively involved in the interviewing process for hiring managers.

“I had one candidate who dressed sharp, looked right, and spoke well,” he continued. “I was ready to put him at the top of the list. After the interview I walked with him out to the parking lot and watched what car he got into. It was a late-model sedan, but it was speckled with bird crap, covered in dust, and the back seat was covered with fast-food wrappers. And on his bumper was a legalize cocaine sticker. Within seconds, he didn’t just drop to the bottom of the list, he dropped off.”

Clay went on to give a number of other examples of how the condition of the candidate’s vehicle raised or lowered his position on the hiring list.

My favorite story of his was the individual who, immediately after his interview, had been placed in the “middle of the pack” by Clay as a potential manager. His resume was good and he interviewed well enough. He had been out of work for about six months, but did not sound desperate. Clay described his clothes as old-ish but noticeably clean. His white shirt was freshly dry-cleaned and starched, and gave his general appearance a very sharp look, despite the age of his suit. His shoes were clean and polished. He gave a good enough first impression but nothing stellar.

Then they walked out to the parking lot.

“He got into a 15-year-old Ford,” Clay said. “It was cleaner and shinier than my two-year-old Lex. I stopped him before he drove off and asked where he had his car serviced. He told me he detailed it himself, and in that instant he rose to the top of my list.”

Clay ended up hiring him and, as it turns out, was one of his best hires ever.

Attention to detail. You never know what someone else is noticing, or how it can effect your life. Whether it’s a job interview, a first date or selling that faithful old clunker, you’re making an impression. Are you sure it’s the right one?

ARE YOU EVER TOO OLD TO …

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Thousands of helicopters landed in our back yard today.

Although we’re accustomed to seeing a lot during the annual event, today’s sighting was almost overwhelming. Mostly tan with some green ones thrown in, there were quite literally thousands that packed the landing site.

Oh, not the man-made helicopters. The seeds that fall from the maple trees, blown into an acrobatic frenzy at times, but mostly pirouetting gently into the soft blades of green grass.

When I was a kid, I would gather handfuls of them and throw them into the air, just to watch them spin back to the earth. The worries of the world didn’t matter. I lived in that moment, full of the wonder and joy of the annual spectacle.

And suddenly I found myself running around the back yard, gathering handful after handful of nature’s helicopters and throwing them by the hundreds back into the air to watch them flutter back to the earth.

For a moment again, I lost sight of the worries of the world and lived in that childlike innocence of joy.

Let us never forget to engage those moments, no matter how old or mature we get, or burdened by the things of this world. Throw up your arms, give a shout of “whoa” or “cool” and at least for a few minutes, jump in the jubilation of your youth.