Reverend Rob

   

Food for thought...

 The meeting hall is full to capacity. Reverend Rob stands at the entry way welcoming members of his flock. He greets familiar faces and newcomers with warm smiles and hardy handshakes. He knows everyone in attendance by name. He can share personal anecdotes about each person in his audience. His followers show up religiously every week, through rain, sleet or snow. The congregation wouldn't miss this weekly gathering for the world. 

     Electricity fills the air as Reverend Rob steps up to the podium at the front of the room. The crowd murmurs while they fan themselves with their tiny booklets as they wait in anticipation for the evening sermon. Everyone in the group knows tonight will be important. Reverend Rob's weekly homily is always life-changing.

     Reverend Rob paces back and forth in the front of the room, a tell-tale sign that he is about to begin the night's service. He commands attention by suddenly bellowing a shockingly loud “How’s everybody doing?” It’s not really a question. Reverend Rob already knows the answer. The fact that people have chosen to sit in the audience means they are already doing well. 

     The crowd reacts with a rush of enthusiasm that would put Oprah’s studio audience to shame. Reverend Rob responds with, “Is that all you got?” The crowd cheers even louder – Gillette Stadium loud after a Tom Brady touchdown. “That’s more like it,” Reverend Rob says, smiling because he knows he has the crowd eating out of his hand.

     That food metaphor is appropriate because this is a Weight Watchers meeting and Rob is the group leader. His work is no less important than a preacher at Sunday service. Rob offers enlightenment to everyone under his guidance. 

     Rob understands the people in his audience. He has experienced the daily struggle of losing weight and keeping weight off. He knows what it’s like to stand in the background when group photos are taken. He can relate because he's been there, done that. 

     Rob’s “sermons” expound upon the success stories of members in attendance who stick to the plan. However, he knows weight loss is a personal thing. What works for one individual doesn’t necessarily work for the next. The plan is flexible and customizable. Success depends on how much you want it. Meeting with others who have similar experiences enables you to find inspiration. Rob knows how to inspire people from within.

     My wife and I attend weekly meetings together. These meetings are more than a diet program support group thanks to Rob. Every week we experience a night of live entertainment rivaling anything at the Stoneham Theatre. Rob's weekly pep talks help keep people on track with humor and pathos. His animated personality permeates the atmosphere leaving no room for negative thoughts. 

     “You lost a pound this week. Perfect! Keep moving in that direction and you’ll be at your goal in no time!”

     “You gained weight this week but you realize where you can improve? Great! That means you’ll do better next week!”

     The plan is all about doing something positive and moving forward from week to week without beating yourself up for any small indiscretion in the kitchen that sets you back. One bad week doesn't negate the previous 12 weeks of success.

     I learn more things at these meetings than just helpful tips to maintain my weight. Most nights there is laughter – gut-wrenching belly laughter – from a story Rob is telling or a quip from a member who has a personal story to share. On a few occasions, the group has been moved to tears after hearing about other member's success or failure, and the reason it happened. Some nights raw emotions are shared. After listening, you can’t help feeling something inside because, after all, we are all human, no matter how much we weigh.

     Rob brings a lightness to your soul no matter what your struggles were during the week. After all, your weight is just a number. And a number on a scale is not the total sum of who you are. We have Rob to thank for making us realize we are so much more than that. Can I get an amen?

Let's Get Physical

     

Leg warmers and headbands?

My wife and I wanted to join a gym for the longest time but we kept finding excuses to put it off. Good excuses like “we’re too tired” or “it’s too late to go check it out” or “it’s too expensive”.
The warmer weather gave us incentive to want to do something – anything – after the horrendous winter we just survived. We spent weeks online looking at various web sites to determine which gym would best suit our needs. We factored in location, price, and services. And we still couldn't make a decision.
    

     It's so much easier not to join a gym than it is to make the commitment to join one. We weren't ready to take the final step. I was paying per month to use the “health club” where I work, but the facilities left a lot to be desired. I liked the convenience of being able to work out during my lunch break, but I was willing to change my routine if I could find something better.
One night after dinner, I ran out of excuses.

      “Do you want to take a tour of one of the gym’s we’ve been considering?” my wife asked.
     

     “I’d like to, but I thought we’d have a cup of coffee and watch TMZ,” I answered.
     

     We ended up at the gym taking the tour, a much better choice than spending another sedentary night on the sofa.
     

     Surprisingly, we liked what we saw. We signed up that night for a year’s membership. The monthly fee is less than I was paying to use the substandard facilities where I work. The new place only had one downside: I didn’t see anyone reading books while pedaling on the recumbent bicycles. I noted this fact to my wife who responded, “Who reads books at a gym?”
     

     “I do,” I said, finding myself just outside the norm once again.
    

      Later that night, my son threw a few offhand comments my way after I told him his mother and I were now officially gym members. “Why did you join that place,” he said. “It’s not even a real gym. It’s for people who don’t really want to work out.”
     

     “In that case, it’s perfect for us,” I said, “because we don’t really want to work out either!” I usually don't get the last word in conversations with my son but he had no retort for my remark.
My wife and I are slowly getting used to our new routine. We meet at the gym most nights after work. We exercise separately since we both have different goals. I have more gym experience but I don’t try to impart my workout philosophy on my wife (that much). Exercise is personal and we both learned a long time ago the secret to a happy marriage is not to try to change your spouse. Change has to come from within. We are keeping up with a five-night-a-week schedule, which is more exercise than we’ve ever done in our lives. I’m not looking for a Schwarzenegger body at my age. I just want to be able to bend my knees without tightness and pain. If we stick to the program, it won’t be long before we reap all kinds of healthy rewards from our new active lifestyle.
     

     Our workout routine has been working out for us. We made a positive choice to overcome whatever mental block was preventing us from doing this before. So far, so good, although I don’t want to give any free plugs by mentioning the name of the place until I’m sure it’s not too good to be true. After all, it’s only been a week.

Robin Dangerfield

“Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean / The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green / The snowbird sings the song he always sings / And speaks to me of flowers / That will bloom again in spring…” – Anne Murray

     

Ranting robin: Tweet Tweet @$%#!

When I pulled into my driveway last week and saw the first red-breasted robin of spring on my front lawn, it didn’t look like it was in the mood to sing a happy melody. No sweet chirping. Not even a peep. It just looked at me and cocked its head to the side as birds do. I could almost read its mind from its expression.
     “Seriously?” the robin thought. “It’s Spring. You know, Spring with a capital S. The season just before Summer.”
     The bird hopped down from the snow pile onto what was once my lawn. “Snow?” it asked quizzically, shaking ice off its tiny claw. It’s beak pecked the frozen grass. “What? Am I too early? I thought the early bird gets the worm. Not me. I get frostbite.”

     The robin looked up at my house. “Love your decorative flag that says Welcome Spring! Is that some kind of a joke? Maybe it’s not too late for your wife to return it to The Christmas Tree Shop and get her money back. Better yet, exchange it for one that says What Spring?”     The bird flitted onto my front porch step. “Nice Easter decorations! I’m surprised the holiday wasn’t cancelled due to the cold weather. So much for the annual Easter egg hunt.. It’s going to be hard to hide eggs under the ice, let alone find them.”

     “And another thing,” it said, “thanks for setting the clocks ahead so early this year. That really threw nature for a loop. Most of the wildlife around here thinks it’s still the middle of winter. I hear there are a couple of brown bears at the Stone Zoo who are still sleeping. They’re waiting for winter to end before they wake up – hopefully in August!”

     I grabbed my grocery bags from my car and took a step toward the bird thinking it would fly off as I approached. Instead, it hopped up a couple of more steps. It furrowed its brow at me and squinted its black beady eyes.

     “Do you know Spot Pond is still frozen?” it said. “The sign that says 'No Swimming' is going to say 'No Ice Skating' year round now” It hopped up another step and unfurled its wings. “What happened to Global Warming? I was just getting used to it. Even the Canada Geese are complaining about the cold. There are flocks of them staying in Florida permanently instead of migrating back to Massachusetts for the summer. 'Aren’t you going to miss the change of seasons?' I asked them. 'What change of seasons?' they said. Go figure.”

     The robin hopped up two more steps. “Look around. Not even a baby crocus in sight. They’re usually in full bloom by now. The tulip bulbs are locked up tighter than New England oysters. If we’re lucky they’ll be blooming by the Fourth of July, or as I like to call it Christmas in July around these parts.”

      “Great,” I said. “Not only do I have a disgruntled robin on my front porch, but it sounds like Rodney Dangerfield."

     The robin flew to the top step of my porch and continued its rant. “I know it’s been cold, but you could at least keep the bird feeder full . Oh wait, you can’t, because the birdseed is in the shed and the doors are still covered with a foot of icy snow. Thanks a lot, mister.”

     Now I was getting ruffled. “Look,” I said, “I don’t like this weather any more than you do. I was happy to see your bright red chest adding a splash of color to all this gray. You’re supposed to be a harbinger of Spring, not a disgruntled messenger of bad tidings.”

     “Ah,shaddup,” the robin said.

     I lunged forward and stamped my foot on the porch step to scare away the angry bird. It spread its wings and leaped into the sky, narrowly missing my head with its pointy black beak as it screeched by my ear.
     As it flew away, it turned its head and squawked, “You really need to paint your front porch!”

     Summer can’t come fast enough for me.

     

Waiting for Eliana

Don't you remember you told me you loved me, baby?

    I’m too young to be a grandfather, but I was ecstatic when I heard the news my son and his wife were expecting their first child. Finding out the baby was a girl added another level of excitement. I grew up with three brothers, no sisters. I have two sons, no daughters. So the news of a new Mullowney girl caused quite a buzz within the family.

A projected due date of February 14th fueled more family excitement. A baby on Valentine’s Day! How romantic! And that birthday date is shared by two close members of my family so it was extra special. However, Valentine’s Day 2015 came and went with no baby in sight. I had brunch with the parents-to-be on the morning of the due date. 

     “How are you feeling,” I asked.

    “Fine.”

    “Not you son, your wife,” I said.

    “I’m fine too,” she answered.

    “Hmmm,” I thought. Not even the slightest hint that a baby might arrive any time soon.

     The week dragged on. No baby. My daughter-in-law continued to work at her job in Natick, driving through blizzards, ice-storms and sub-zero temperatures. She wanted to work right up until she delivered the baby. Both sides of her concerned family listened to the traffic reports every morning to see if any babies were being delivered by State Police on the Mass Pike. 

     Each day after the due date, I was sure I was going to get a call from my son telling me the baby was coming. The anticipation was taking its toll on the grandparents-to-be. According to the doctors, everything was fine, it just wasn’t time yet. 

     As the next weekend approached, the doctors said they would admit my daughter-in-law into the Winchester Hospital to induce labor. The only problem was there were no beds available in the maternity ward. We were just going to have to wait. And wait. And wait.

I got a call Thursday night from my son who was on his way to the hospital with his wife. This must be it, I thought. No such luck. Go home. Not tonight. 

    Saturday arrived, along with a phone call from my son telling me his wife was admitted to the hospital. Everything looked good, now we just had to wait. And wait. And wait. I didn’t sleep Saturday night waiting for a phone call from the hospital. The telephone never rang. 

     Finally on Sunday night, we drove to the hospital to await the arrival of our new granddaughter. My wife and I haven’t had any baby experience since 1995. Times have changed. Extended families are now part of the birth experience. In the hospital room, my wife and I visited my son and daughter-in-law, along with her mother. We settled into our chairs and chatted in the hospital room, listening to the soothing sound of the baby’s heartbeat on the beeping monitor. This must be what it was like in days gone by, sitting around a straw hut, waiting for the birth of a new member of the tribe. After the harrowing experiences my wife had with her pregnancies, this peaceful night was a stress-free relief –  the complete opposite of what we experienced when our children were born. If it takes a village to raise a child, maybe it takes a village to birth a child too. I was happy to be part of the experience.

     At 11:30 pm, the delivery nurse entered the room and matter-of-factly stated, “Can the family please move to the waiting room. The baby will be arriving shortly.” After waiting nine months, plus the additional agonizing last week, a few more minutes didn’t seem to matter. 

     At 11:45 pm, my daughter-in-law’s mother was summoned to the delivery room to offer her support. This is it, I thought nervously. It won’t be long now.

     At 12:10 am my cellphone buzzed and I looked at the screen to see the first snapshot of my granddaughter. It was love at first sight. I showed the photo to my wife and said, “Congratulations, you’re a grandmother.” We headed back to the delivery room to meet our granddaughter in person.

     Eliana Rose Mullowney was born at exactly 12:00 am midnight Sunday night/Monday morning. Perfect and alert, eyes wide open, dark hair, blue eyes and a hint of a smile above her tiny dimpled chin. Holding her in my arms and gazing down at her beautiful face made it so worth the wait. Welcome to the world, Eliana Rose, who by any other name, would still be as sweet. 

Ice Station Zebra

"I tried to smile but my lips were frozen."

     As I began my morning commute last Friday, I thought to myself, “I can’t take much more of this.” Of course I was referring to the never-ending winter weather. As I write this, a fifth-in-a-row weekend storm approaches. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. I’m amazed how the snow has complicated everyday life.

     Inside my home nothing has changed. I take for granted that I am in the same warm safe place I’ve always been. But every time I open my front door I'm shocked because I don't recognize my surroundings. Once my eyes adjust to the blinding whiteness of the outside world, the unfamiliar landscape comes into focus.

     I can't make sense of what I’m seeing. Have I suddenly been transported to the moon? There are high jagged mountains and deep craters replacing what was once my driveway and front yard. The sub-zero temperature reinforces my deep space theory. This is certainly not the Gorham Avenue I remember from photographs of days gone by.

     I look around and realize I’m not on the moon. I’m on an iceberg somewhere in the Arctic Ocean. Am I a survivor of the sunken Titanic? Maybe I'm a stranded whaler trying to find the rest of my lost crew. Then I remember. I’m just a Stoneham commuter trying to get to work to earn a living. I remember my 12-mile three hour commute to Boston that used to take 30 minutes on an average day.

     Each day is a life and death adventure making the treacherous journey through ice and snow, dodging falling icicles, narrowly missing avalanches, and wading through hip-deep snow. And that’s just the trip from my front door to my car in the driveway.

     At least my car starts up each day in this deep freeze, although there are some odd noises upon ignition. Strange lights appear on my dashboard. One light is my tire pressure indicator. Keeping an exact amount of 32 lbs. of air per tire is the least of my worries. I have heat and windshield-washer fluid, that’s all that matters for now. Everything else will have to wait.

     Driving on side streets is a challenge. Entering main streets from behind walls of snow becomes less frightening the more I do it. The adrenaline rush of not knowing if I'm going to be hit by another vehicle really gets my blood pumping. Sweating nervously produces body heat as an added bonus.

I’m quite adept at pot-hole dodging on the highway. I’ve memorized the position of the ones in the road I can drive over without a problem. I know how to swerve just enough to miss the larger craters without smashing into the vehicle in the next lane.

     I’ve accepted the increased volume of traffic due to commuters who used to take mass transit and are now forced to become road warriors like the rest of us. I can't believe the number of driver’s looking at their phones instead of the road. I’ve got my gloved hands locked on my steering wheel in the 10:00 and 2:00 o'clock position. I focus straight ahead as I barrel along at 10 miles an hour, 15 on a good day.

     I arrive at work, where it takes ten minutes to remove my extra layers of clothing and step out of my winter boots into the dry shoes I store under my desk.

After a mind-numbing day of work with my fellow Iditarod travelers, it’s time to make the treacherous trek back home to Stoneham. The days are getting longer so it’s easier to see the ice ruts and pot-holes now, so that’s a plus.

     Everyday errands are just going to have to wait until the spring. Snow covered roads and biting wind make even the shortest trips more difficult. Just checking my mailbox is a chore. Forget about banking, the post office, haircuts, dining out or visiting family. They are a thing of the past in this post-modern ice age. There will be time for those things when the weather warms up – IF the weather warms up.

     I'm not a complainer. I’m the most positive person you will ever meet. But even my uplifting attitude is cracking like a tin roof under the weight of the falling snow. I know this winter is not the end of the world, but it’s pretty darn close. My advice: tough it out and keep your chin up. Just keep it covered so you don’t get frostbite.

Frozen

     

STAINED GLASS: Looking out my front door

I never have to worry about writer’s block while living in New England. People love talking about the weather in our little neck of the global woods. And this winter there’s so much to talk about.

     January 2015 was cold, but that's to be expected. Nothing unusual happened on the weather front other than we almost made it through the entire month without any significant snowfall. At the end of the month, the snow finally arrived. Boy did it ever. And now there is no end in sight.

     The January 27th blizzard dumped around 25 inches of snow on Stoneham. At work, I was already on the schedule for vacation days on Monday and Tuesday. My timing couldn't have been better. With the state-of-emergency travel ban in place, I wasn’t going anywhere anyway. Like everyone else that day, I spent most of my free time shoveling and clearing snow. It was hard work but by Wednesday life was more or less back to normal. Okay, less. But somehow we survived.

     One week later, another storm struck and another foot of snow blanketed our area. When added to the previous accumulation, the amount was staggering. I took a rare spontaneous vacation day to enjoy more shovel-time with my wife. I wish I could say we had fun. Not even close. The pressure may have been dropping in the atmosphere but it was skyrocketing in my driveway. Just ask the neighbors.

     Snow removal is an enormously difficult challenge, for homeowners as well as the DPW. Driving through town feels like training for an olympic luge event. Nosing my car out of a corner side street is a complete game of chance. I call it Extreme Whack-A-Mole. The record breaking, back breaking snowfall has taken its toll on everyone. People are exhausted before they arrive at work. Everyone looks strung out and defeated. At least the Patriot’s Super Bowl victory gave us something positive to focus on for a few moments.

     I just heard the extended forecast and there's more snow coming. It is winter, so I’m not surprised. I have a few choice words for Mother Nature 2015, besides “relentless” and “vicious”, but I’ll keep them to myself so as not to disturb the weather gods. I don't want to make them any more angry than they already are. I’ve gotten used to trudging through the snowdrifts, tiptoeing on black ice, and layering my clothes to combat the arctic wind chill. Hearty New Englander? More like Apocalypse Survivor. That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, so call me Superman. Maybe that’s just my white-out delirium talking.

     Winter 2015 continues to stomp its way toward the ever elusive spring season. Spring is under a lot of pressure this year to be extra-spectacular – or else. For now, I'm living in the moment. I’m happy my home has a full tank of heating oil, some Duraflame logs, and electricity to make the harsh winter days and nights comfortable (or at least bearable). Give me a hot cup of tea and a computer keyboard and I’m a happy camper. The temperature may be sub-zero outside, but it's warm inside sitting by the glow of my laptop fueled by the fire of my imagination.

It's a Tie

Knot's Landing...

Last month when I opened my Christmas gift from my sister-in-law and her husband, I was expecting a wallet. I’m a good gift-guesser, which infuriates my family. Inside the box, instead of a wallet, I found something unique that forever changed my life. A real bow tie!

I was last seen wearing a bow tie in my kindergarten graduation photo, and that one was a clip on. The bow tie I received this year is the real deal. It was love at first sight. Black and white, reversible patterns, – a perfect match for most of my wardrobe. There was only one problem. I never tied a bow tie in my life.

How hard could it be? My father taught me the proper way to tie a neck tie when I was a youngster. And not just a regular knot, a majestic Windsor knot. The kind of knot that sends a message. Thanks, Dad!

Without my father here to share any bow tie knowledge he may have had, I consulted the next best thing – the Internet. Google has the answer to everything. I searched “how to tie a bow tie” and eagerly awaited the results. The search found more information than I could ever use. There were charts and graphs galore, but I thought a YouTube video would be the best place to start.

I sat at my computer, bow tie in hand, and watched the first video. I rewound the instructions several times, but I couldn’t get past step two. Twenty minutes later, I Googled “easy-way-to-tie-a-bow tie”. The videos that surfaced were similar to the first ones, equally confusing and frustrating. One demonstrator suggested, “It’s like tying your shoe.” (It's not). Another instructor shared a tip: practice tying the bow tie around your leg until you get the hang of it. That’s fine if you like the 1982 Joanie-Loves-Chachi “leg bandana” look. After spending forty nonproductive minutes in front of the mirror, I gave up for the night.

I took my bow tie with me to work the next day, determined to wear it. I consulted a bow tied co-worker who moonlights as a cellist for the Cambridge Symphony Orchestra. I knew he’d have some helpful hints. He shed some light on the mystery of tying the knot. I headed to the rest room hoping it was empty so I could have the mirror to myself. In the privacy of the fluorescent lit bathroom, I tried to remember all the steps I learned to appropriately tie this accoutrement around my neck. I tied and re-tied without success.

On my last attempt, something clicked. Instead of looping right, I looped left. I found success by overlapping and underlapping in the opposite direction. Tying the bow backwards in the mirror was a real brain teaser. Just when the bow looked almost perfect, I pulled the wrong end and all my hard work unravelled. I was running out of time and patience. I headed back to my desk with the tie hanging around my neck like a wet noodle.

At the entrance to my department, I ran into two co-workers, Shirley and Natalie, who were leaving for a sales call. They commented on my unstrung tie. I couldn’t hide the frustration on my face.

“I almost had it. I can’t get past the last step. Watch this,” I said as I proceeded to demonstrate how to tie the tie. I flipped the fabric around, up, over and down, back up and...oh so close. I held the pieces in place as the two women tried to analyze the knot situation.

“This end needs to go to point A and this end needs to go to point B,” I said.

“It’s like tying a ribbon,” Shirley said as she took one end and tucked it through the loop in the back of the tie. Natalie pulled the end through and looped it behind the other end to form a bow.

“It almost looks like a bow tie now,” Natalie said. Almost being the key word.

I thanked them and did a u-turn back to the rest room to do some fine-tuning. My bow tie was complete and it only took three people!

My tie received a few compliments as the day progressed. I like the look, although it seems too high-maintenance for everyday wear. I suppose the more I practice, the better and faster I’ll get at it. I need to buy a few more so I can introduce them into my everyday wardrobe.

I’d love to adopt the bow tie as my signature look although I’m afraid of the separated at birth comparisons that might pop up between me and Orville Redenbacher. And the Pee Wee Herman references I could do without.

For now, I’ll occasionally tie one on to mix things up in the wardrobe department. Who says men’s fashion can’t be fun? Not us risk takers. Once I get good at constructing the perfect bow tie, they’ll be no stopping me. It’s just knot going to happen any time soon.