WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN TIME FLIES …

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A friend of mine recently told me how much more quickly time seems to be passing in his life. He wondered if I had noticed it too. I hadn’t really. I asked him what he was doing lately.

He said, “Nothing much, really. You know what it’s like. Different day, same sh(t. Week after week.”

“So what do you do to break things up a bit?” I asked.

“Nothing much,” he repeated. “Guess I’m just stuck in a rut.”

“Well, that’s your problem,” I said. “You know what they say, ‘Time flies when you’re stuck in a rut.’”

There is some science behind it. I remember reading something a few years ago, about people whose lives follow essentially the same routine day after day, have the mental effect of speeding up time for them. Their days wash into weeks. Their weeks melt into months. Before they know it, in the time it takes to yawn, years have passed. It least, that’s how it feels to them. And apparently, it gets even worse the older you grow, because the routines become, well, even more routine.

What’s the cure, you ask.

Okay, you really didn’t ask, did you? Because the answer is really obvious.

Change your routines whenever you can.

Always drive the same way to work? Try a different route or a different mode. Leave early. Stay late. Notice things on the way. Make a mental note to check them out on the weekend.

Always watch the same show every Tuesday night at 7:00? Record it and watch it on Wednesday at 9:12pm. Or save it until Saturday morning. Or better yet, skip watching it for a week. Then another week. Until your routine is different.

Always eat gruel for breakfast, a hard boiled egg for lunch, and a lettuce sandwich with stone soup for dinner? Hello?! Switch it up.

Think of routine like the monitor that measures time sequence for heart or brain activity. If nothing’s going on, it’s just a flatline.

If there’s activity, it shows the peaks and valleys of life. That’s the one you want.

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT, EVEN IN IMPERFECT MOMENTS OF PRACTICE

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“My needs are few,” she said. “A warm hug, a little kiss, and some of that.” She pointed to the block of yellow cheese that was on sale.

It was, without any doubt, the only time I’ve heard someone, anyone, answer the question, “Can I help you?” in that manner. Apparently, it was the only time the deli counter staff heard that answer as well.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his eyes opening wide and his brows raising to emphasize his apparent confusion.

“I said, my needs are few,” she repeated. “A warm hug, a little kiss, and some of that.” Again, she pointed to the cheese, and added, “About a half pound, please.”

The confusion didn’t leave his face, but he picked up the block of cheese, turned around and placed it in the slicer. He turned back around, still looking confused, and asked, “A half pound?”

“Yes, please.”

He turned back to the slicer and began slicing. Exactly three-hundredths more of a half pound later, he handed her the wrapped cheese. “Anything else?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” she said. “That will do just fine.”

I finished my shopping and was about to pack the groceries in the car, when the young woman happened to stop at the car next to mine.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I couldn’t help but overhearing your answer at the deli counter and I was just wondering why you answered that way.”

“Oh that,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m in a community theater and it’s one of my lines. But I keep getting it mixed up. Sometimes I say, ‘A warm kiss and little hug,’ or I might say, ‘A little warm hug and kiss me.’ I’ve just been having a time getting it right. So now, I say it, the right way, whenever the opportunity avails itself.”

“Do you get a lot of confused looks when you say it?” I asked.

“Tons. But that’s okay. I think I’ve finally got it right.”

“Well, good luck with your production,” I said. I drove away thinking of Martha Graham’s quote:

“Practice is a means of inviting the perfection desired.”

FIRE GOOD? FIRE BAD? ME WANT KNOW …

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The evening is quite cold and dark as we join Monkalunk and Kraklehead on the plateau just outside their cave.

Monkalunk says, “Night feel like be real cold.”

Kraklehead looks up from his stick, “Cold. Not good. Me not like cold. Like warm.”

“Mm. Warm. Me like warm too,” Monkalunk says. “Why not SkyGod make warm now?”

Suddenly, a loud crack fills the air and an almost blinding streak of lightning strikes a bush about ten feet from where our caveguys are sitting. The bush roars into a flaming bonfire.

“Loud,” Kraklehead says. “Me not like loud. Me not like cold. Me like warm.”

Monkalunk slowly walks over to the burning bush. He stands in front of it for about 20 seconds. He runs back to Kraklehead.

“Warm!” Monkalunk shouts. “Fire warm. Fire good. Me like fire. Come Kraklehead. Come by warm.”

“Me like warm,” Kraklehead says, as he walks over to the burning bush with Monkalunk. “Mmmm. Warm good. Fire good.”

Monkalunk looks at Kraklehead and says, “Throw stick on fire.”

“No! My stick,” Kraklehead yells. “Not throw on fire. My stick. You throw other stick.”

The night grows colder and darker but our two caveguys are rather enjoying throwing other sticks on the fire and staying warm.

“Time go sleep,” Monkalunk says. “Come Kraklehead.”

“Okay. But me trade cold stick for warm stick to bring back to cave.” Kraklehead says, as he throws his stick into the fire and grabs a different stick. One burning red hot.

“AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!” Kraklehead screams. “FIRE BURN. FIRE BAD. KILL FIRE NOW.” Kraklehead quickly sticks his blistering hand into a bucket of cold creek water. “Aaaaah. Cold good. Me like cold.”

Meanwhile, Monkalunk grabbed a fire extinguisher and put out the burning bush. (Yes, they had fire extinguisher’s back then. You know. Sort of. In a caveman-ish kind of way.) He walked over to his friend and asked him how his hand was feeling.

“Hand cold,” Kraklehead says. “Cold good. You kill fire?”

“Yes, fire dead,” Monkalunk says. “Fire hurt friend. Fire Bad. Me hate fire. How hand, now?”

“Hand still cold. Cold good. Me like cold. Me like sleep. Go sleep now.” Kraklehead says.

They walk into their cave, which is even darker and colder than the night has become. Shivering, they eventually fall asleep. For about three hours.

“Monkalunk,” Kraklehead says. “You sleep?”

“Not sleep now. What up?”

“Me cold. Me not like cold. Me like warm.” Kraklehead tells his friend. “Can you make SkyGod make fire come back?”

“Mmm. Fire warm. Fire good. Me like fire.”

Okay, so is there a moral to this story?

Ummmm, yes?

In fact, there are a few morals. But me only post story. You think moral. Moral good. You like moral.

WHY WON’T THE GIRLS KISS ME …

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Here’s to your Monday Morning Chuckle.

HOW TO BE A GOOD GIVER OF SOMETHING, GOODLY, GIVINGNESS OR SOMETHING …

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“There are only three things you need in order to have a great memory,” he said, rather enthusiastically. “First, you need a good diet. Second, you need good rest. And third …”

He paused, I assumed for dramatic effect. But his body language and his eyes quickly belied that assumption. I think he forgot that third thing.

“And third,” he repeated, “You need to remember things better.”

And with that, I walked out of the seminar, walked directly to the registration table and demanded my money back. The young lady looked at me and said, “But didn’t the seminar just begin?”

“Yes,” I said.

“May I ask why you want your money back?” she inquired.

“Sure,” I said. “He just opened his seminar by saying that to have a good memory you need a good diet, good rest, and you need to remember things better. You tell me, do I need my money back?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she apologized sincerely. Then she returned my check to me.

During the couple of minutes that I asked for and received my money back, five more people had stepped out of the room and were standing in line for their money back. When the young lady noticed that more people were coming out to demand their money back, I heard her say to herself, “Not again.”

As someone who has enjoyed a career developing and facilitating workshops, I believe I can speak from experience in offering the following advice for anyone considering giving seminars or workshops.

First, eat well.

Second, rest well.

Third, be a good seminar or workshop giver.

[Pause for dramatic effect.]

[Three more seconds.]

Okay, obviously that’s a joke made at the expense of the hapless “great memory expert” above.

I’ve actually given workshops on how to make good public presentations, under the title, “Stop Looking Stupid!”, but there is too much information to put it in a simple blog posting. And of course, the “interwebs” is full of advice, both good and bad.

But I’d like to share the two best tips I was taught before I went on the public speaking/workshops circuit.

One, whether you’re the world’s foremost expert on your topic or you’re just starting out, after you give your audience the who, what, why, where, when and how, answer the following question: Now what? (Which of course, leads to many other questions.)

They have your information, so what do they do with it? How do they use it to improve their lives? How do they make a difference? How do they grow, replicate, renew?

Give your audience more than they expected, in a way that makes it memorable, then leave.

Two, your audience can find the information you’re going to present in a lot of other places and from a lot of other sources. So you need to answer the question: Why you?

The simple answer: Style. Why would anyone pay $500 or more for a few hours of information they can easily find elsewhere? It’s the way you give them the same information. You are theater. You are the whisper at the perfect moment. The scream at the unexpected moment. The power tie. The nerd glasses. That mischievous smile that tells the audience, “You’re gonna love this.”

So. To reiterate my seven tips on making good presentations.

One. Eat well.

Two. Rest well.

Three. Give your audience more than they expect.

Four. Make your information memorable.

Five. Style. Have some.

Six. Be a good seminar/workshop giver.

Seven. Leave.

Oh, and here’s a bonus tip: Whenever you can, get paid up front.

[Pause for dramatic effect.]

[Three more seconds.]

[Tongue-in-cheek.]

YES, I SPEAK HOLSTEIN …

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I love a good malapropism, especially from kids. And this one’s a doozy.

It was the groom’s fifth wedding. His 7 or 8 year old son was part of the wedding party, and apparently he had heard the phrase enough to voice it just before the minister was about to speak.

Of course, the son spoke it rather loudly. With obvious exasperation and a theatrical head- and eye-roll that could be easily seen in the back seats.

The minister speaks to the congregation: “If there is anyone here who knows why these two should not be joined in marriage, …”

When out booms the voice of the groom’s son: “Yeah, yeah. Speak cow or forever holster your peas. What’s that mean anyway?”

From the minister at the front of the church to the usher at the back, laughter erupted. Even the bride and groom, who for a brief moment looked mortified, burst out in laughter.

That moment was worth the otherwise crushingly boring ceremony that had dragged on for almost 2-½ hours and came dangerously close to putting even the wedding photographer to sleep.

So the next time you wonder whether to voice your opinion, remember the poignant words of our pint-sized philosopher: Speak cow or forever holster your peas.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

HOW TO SHAVE 5 MINUTES OFF YOUR MILE RUN TIME IN ONE WEEK …

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Two weeks ago, Joe ran an eleven-minute mile on a flat track. It was the best time he had run in five years.

Last week, Joe ran a six-minute mile, in the woods, while jumping over logs and dodging trees and bushes. The bear behind him ran slightly slower.

The dramatic one-week difference in Joe’s running time?

Motivation.