Mine is an old-fashioned marriage. “One man, one woman, and one old-fashioned!”
(Not sure if I stole that joke or made it up. Either way, I’ll take credit).
My dear wife is a lover of the evening snack, and last night she says to me, she says, “I believe I’ll cook some popcorn.”
It was the word “cook,” that should have warned me.
Me, I would “make” some popcorn.
Or perhaps “pop” some popcorn.
I never would have thought to “cook” some popcorn.
I can tell you, friend, that the very sulfurous fumes of hell have no stench like cooked popcorn.
Because cooked popcorn, in this case, meant scorched popcorn.
Deeply scorched kernels of stink.
Now I’m no popcorn expert, but this has only ever happened to me once, when, as a youth, Hogan’s Heroes was about to come on, and I had to get the corn popped in time.
In other words, I was in a hurry. (Couldn’t miss that Schultz saying “Nothing!” in his funny Nazi accent).
As I said, I’m no expert, but I know that low heat and gentle shaking, just like child care, makes for great popcorn.
You can’t rush it.
The same thing happens with ukulele practice.
(Ha! Did it! Made the tie-in!)
If you’re playing anything harder than campfire sing-alongs, I’ll bet you’ve done this:
- Play up to the first hard chord.
- Skip that chord.
- Play to the next hard chord.
- Skip that one, too.
Because you’re in a hurry. Because you don’t want to go “low and slow” and figure out the hard parts.
But these are the very parts you should be focused on! Or you end up with the sulfurous black blob of conjoined kernels.
Take your time.
Learn what you need to learn.
Oh, and salt lightly.