Box the Perfecta

It's Monday morning in the Time magazine news room, and the editor is handing out assignments for the upcoming issue.

"Francour, go down to New Orleans and write about all the mud still sitting in the mudrooms."

"Who wants to cover a festival? Kubba? Great, here is a ticket to Baghdad. Cover the Shia festival in Karbala, but don't forget to wear your flak jacket."

"Mullen, write a satire piece on the 3rd making of The Longest Yard, starring Michael Vick."

"Okay, that leaves Van Biema. Let's see, what's left for the September issue? Oh yeah, we need you to review a new book coming out on Mother Teresa."

"You want me to highlight her saintliness, Chief?"

"Nah, we need you to write a cover story bringing into doubt her her belief in God...if there is a God. A new book coming out next month says she lived in darkness and couldn't hear the Lord...if there is a Lord...after 1958. All that fund raising, caring for the sick and homeless, standing up for the unborn...we might have to expose her as a fake. See what you can find out, kid!"

"Gee, Boss, aren't there any openings for investigative reporting on the CIA? Maybe Kubba could use a cameraman in Iraq? No wait, isn't it hurricane season during a period of global warming? There has to be a raging storm about to hit somewhere. I love the wind! Chief, have you thought about the repercussions of being wrong on the storyline?"

The Maiden of Mishap

ac·ci·dent - An unexpected and undesirable event, especially one resulting in damage or harm.

Sprained knee - fell off her shoes - yesterday

3rd degree burn on hands - boiling cooking oil

Tennis elbow - therapy - overuse

Neck injury - auto accident - dog jumped in lap while driving

Forearm split skin - 12 stitches - fell down stairs

Torn ACL - reconstructive knee surgery - downhill skiing

Cyst removed from back - stitches

Natural childbirth - 3 children - my fault

Appendicitis - exploratory surgery - 48 hours after childbirth

Hand & wrist surgery - stitches & therapy

Torn hamstring - running to 1st base in softball

Concussion - playing grab ass with boyfriend

Broken toes - ran into doorway while chasing boyfriend

Broken nose - reconstructive surgery - playing baseball...with boyfriend!

Broken thumb - running track - I can't explain it

Broken tailbone - bed ridden 2 months - slipped in a boat

Compound fracture arm - fell off bike

Broken collarbone - fell off bike (same accident)

Sliced big toe - 10 stitches - slipped and fell on metal floor covering

Ear canal surgery - birth defect

And she is one of the good guys!

Teamwork

Everybody remembers the first time a coach gave them a team shirt. Ah, the knitted badge of accomplishment and acceptance. The Little League wools, the CYO basketball satin warm-ups, a varsity football game jersey - pride and tradition. Slip it on and peer into the mirror to see the local legends who wore it before you, or to dream of creating a legacy of your own.

My son James loves a uniform. Going back to when he was 9, he would lay his baseball uniform out on the floor next to his bed the night before a game. Like a true warrior, he was battle ready. His days of athletic heroism are over, but there is still yet to come Twilight League softball or the bowling team at work. "Now rolling on lane 7 for The Gutter Kings, J-a-a-a-mes MULLEN!" Hey, a dad can dream, too.

I'll have to wait until he graduates from college and gets a job before seeing him in a team photo with the bowling shirt, but he still wears a uniform. In fact, he designed and created the Team Australia shirts pictured above.

He's not from Australia, but that isn't important. What is important is that when you go into battle, step onto the field of competition, or sit down at a table to slug beer, you should be unified with your mates - hence the uniform.

I don't know if The Boyz finished first in the local Beerfest, but they probably looked pretty good doing warm ups. Sometimes the jersey itself can create an intimidation factor worth a couple of points. I'm actually hoping they didn't do too well in the Volume or Relay Chug, but I'd be thrilled if they made it to the Beer Pong finals.

Story Tellers

Everybody tries to tell a story, but only the few, the proud, the redundant can tell a story to captivate the masses. Sermon on the Mount, I Have a Dream, Ask Not What You Can Do for Your Country and....

It's A Long Way to the Top

My brother-in-law is a great guy. A retail manager, he has worked two jobs ever since I met him. We forgot to tell him it's expensive being married to one of the Mullen girls!

But this week Allen's head down, nose to the grindstone, roll up the sleeves, stick-to-it-ive-ness resulted in a big fat promotion. The guy is now the Assistant Store Manager for a local Michael's. Way to go big Al! If the company sold stock, I'd buy it tomorrow.

Ridin' down the highway

Goin' to a show

Stop in all the by-ways

Playin' rock 'n' roll

Gettin' robbed

Gettin' stoned

Gettin' beat up

Broken boned

Gettin' had

Gettin' took

I tell you folks

It's harder than it looks

It's a long way to the top

If you want to rock'n'roll

- Scott Young AC/DC

Pot of Gold

Connecticut Light & Power (CL&P) came out with a Summer Savings program to encourage households to reduce energy consumption. My Dad would be in Heaven... no wait he is in Heaven. What I meant to say was if he was still alive, he'd the happiest guy on the face of the earth and singing the praises of CL&P.

Long before President Jimmy Carter gave a series of energy conservation speeches, Papa was turning down the lights and turning off the TV. But Carter's suggestion to set the thermostat at 65 during the day and cooler at night became a conservationist's creed; Papa was an apostle.

For the past 30 years in my household, I have followed the family around the house to turn off the blazing trail of lights. But when the dog days of summer came on, so did the air conditioner. Last year I got a $500 electric bill in August. I was digging into the winter fuel fund before the 1st killing frost to pay for summer's energy usage.

But this year, CL&P has challenged consumers to reduce energy usage by 10-20% from July through September compared to the same period in 2006. Winners of the conservation game get a discount equal to the percentage saved on their October bill.

I think I am a lock. I signed up for the contest last week knowing I had a few hundred kilowatt hours in the bank. The air conditioner hasn't been on all summer! Now we just have to pray they don't have a rate increase in September.

Scratch Mountain Man Off the List

Everybody dreams of being someone else, or growing up in a different era. At one time I wanted to be a forest ranger. In another life, I'd have been a mountain man in the mold of Jeremiah Johnson, or so I thought.

Saturday I woke before sunrise and road my 4-cylinder SUV up the Mount Evans Road in the Colorado Rockies. The road traverses the 14,264 foot mountain for 14 winding miles ending at the summit just below the peak. The views along the way are spectacular, and with a keen eye and a little luck you will see bighorn sheep grazing in the rocky highlands.

But if you are a greenhorn Easterner, the air on the mountaintop is a little thin for clear thinking. In case I was so confused and didn't recognize something was wrong, the USDA Forest Service was kind enough to erect a sign at the summit warning of altitude sickness. If you are having difficulty breathing (yes), developing a severe headache (yes, yes) and feeling queasy (yes, yes, yes) you may have altitude sickness. Drop below 8,000 feet at your earliest convenience.

I took their advice, but it took a day, an aspirin and a half-a-dozen Gatorade's to get back to normal. Well, at least I think I'm normal.

Does anybody know if they discovered any gold in the foothills?

And In This Corner...

I've always encouraged people to post comments on my blog. Every now and again I'll get an atta boy from a family member - Mullen pride runs deep. Less frequently, I'll get a note from a random stranger. These tend to be more opinionated as the author doesn't have to worry about meeting up with me at the family picnic.

I've also had a number of comments posted by famous figures from the past such as Billie Holiday, Tony Randall, Paul Revere, Joseph Stalin, Karl Marx, Abbie Hoffman, Noah Webster, William Shakespeare, Uncle Sam, Pope John Paul II, Marlin Perkins, Thomas Edison, Babe Ruth, Vincent Price and Fred Flintstone to name a few. Wi-Fi technology has really expanded the reach of the Internet!

But lately I am noticing a trend where back-to-back comments will come into Letters from the Moon within moments of each other from related readers. Representing themselves as The Pollinator and Mrs. Pollinator, or Mr. X and Mrs. Y, the tandem is fast on their feet and hard hitting.

Formidable opponents, they bring to the blogosphere the same furry and tenacity Mr. Fuji and Professor Toru Tanaka brought to Saturday morning tag team wrestling in the 1970's. I think The Pollinators (children of the 70's) have what it takes to be champions in the mold of Jimmy & Johnny Valiant. But I want these pencil-neck geeks to know that I have Classy Freddie Blassie in my corner, and he's filing down his teeth!

Bring it on Pollinators! Bring it on!

Summer Blooms

The flowers on the deck continue to bloom with colors never found in Winter. For now, the hummingbird visits on the hour at 6 and 6. The bees bumble from yellow to red to blue throughout the day, socks loaded down with pollen. Just beyond the camera's view I can see a solitary brown leaf on the grapevine. August is moving toward September.

Editor's Note: This may be a little too artsy for Letters from the Moon. "Bees bumble"? Is this some kind of twisted alliteration? It's going to be sunny tomorrow, you moron. Who the hell wants to think about the end of summer in the prime of vacation week? I do like the photo.

Lesson in Love

Nathaniel called me the other day to say, hello. A phone call from a 3 year old isn't an ordinary AT&T event. No sir, it's something special, something wonderful, something pure.

The day before the call, Nathaniel had been pacing the living room with a lifeless cellphone having a make believe conversation with me. After continuing the imaginary discourse the following morning, Keyla thought a real call was in order.

"Rob, Nathaniel wants to talk to you."

"Okay, put him on."

"Hi, Papa! Papa, you godda work? Papa's at his house. Nathaniel plays with Tommie Train. Papa you working?"

"Hi Nathaniel! Papa is working. Are you playing with your sister, Ayva?"

"Bye-bye, Papa."

"Keyla..... you there? Keyla? Hello, Nathaniel?"

I didn't pick up on any local gossip or the news of the day, but hidden between the "bye-byes" was an "I love you". Gosh, what did I do to deserve having someone think of me all day long?

Most days, I'm not thinking about anyone. My daily routine gets too busy with open task, emails and call backs to think of anyone in a meaningful way. Rather, everything becomes a meaningless check mark on a perpetual list of to do's. Calling up my loved ones isn't always on the list.

I read in Matthew that in order to enter the kingdom of God, you must become childlike. Nathaniel's got that part down, and he's trying to share it with me. Thanks for the reminder, Jakers! Call me again on Thursday.

Researching the Bloodline

We spent the day at the ICONS Festival (Irish Connections) on Saturday. Actually, we spent the day and the night, staying to the bitter end to hear the last note played just before midnight. Can't get enough of the Irish stuff.

The music was great, but the crowd was a wee small one. I can't imagine The Boston Globe or Guinness will rush to sponsor the event again next year. By my count, there were less than 500 people in attendance at the main stage for Nancy Griffith's performance. She was Saturday's headliner.

Gosh, I hope the Irish Culture Centre can resurrect more enthusiasm and higher attendance for next year's festival. I'd like to stick with my Irish roots, but maybe I should start to research the Caber toss just in case.

Reclaiming the Brogue

It's tough for the Irish to get a mention in the news these days - car bombings in Iraq, hostage killings in Afghanistan, a fidgety stock market - no room for The Troubles. That's a good thing. I think The Troubles were downgraded to The Misunderstandings a couple of years ago anyways.

But the Irish are really known for poetry, prose and music, so who needs the negative publicity. We've got Riverdance, the Irish Tenors, Frank Patterson, Angela's Ashes and U2. Frank Patterson is dead you say? When did that happen?

Okay, so even the Irish Tiger is fading with beat of the bodhran. Not to worry. Pour a couple of pints of Guinness and let us think about it. We'll come up with something.

Today, I'm heading out to the Annual Irish Festival in Canton, MA to see what's on the horizon. Now known as the ICONS Festival, the focus is on the direction of Irish culture and its diaspora. New name, new date, upgraded music venue and a new mission. I feel a rebirth in the making. Slainte!

Is it Too Late for the Term Paper?

Julie cooked up a half-dozen ears of locally grown, hand picked, silver queen corn for dinner tonight. Steamed for 15 minutes, buttered and lightly salted, it was sweet and succulent - one of summer's traditions.

Not just my summer tradition, but one that dates back about 5,000 years. By the time Christopher Columbus landed on our shores there were over 300 varieties of corn on the menu. We cleared our plates tonight, but an archaeologist found a couple of 3,600 year old leftovers in a Tehuacan, Mexico cave. They were probably overcooked.

I didn't start out the evening knowing these facts. But as I stared at the steaming cobs of corn, they reminded me of a failed college course I took at UVM during my first attempt at higher education. Entering my sophomore year, already on double secret probation, I was looking for a "gut" course to boost my GPA. Fundamentals of Wine Tasting was closed out by all the seniors on probation, so I settled on Indian Cultures and Religion. Having read the Classics Illustrated comic The Last of the Mohicans for a high school book report, I was anxious to learn more about the likes of Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and Geronimo. How hard could it be?

There are two things I remember about Indian Cultures and Religion:

1. Walking through the front door of the classroom and quickly escaping through the back after noticing every other student drop off a 10 page term paper. No sense in sitting down after missing more than a month of lectures. Realizing the paper was 50% of my grade, I prepared my college goodbye speech that evening.


2. Corn.

It turns out the course wasn't about American Indians and their cowboy friends after all. Nope, it was an advanced anthropology class about ancient mesoamerica societies. No Abenaki, Cherokee or Choctaw here, but rather Olmec, Aztec and Maya peoples. Fascinating cultures really, and to understand them you had to understand their means of subsistence - maize. Suffice it to say, at 18 years old I wasn't really into the "corn" thing, so I slept in most Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings.

Even tonight, as I contemplated putting ground pepper on my corn, I wondered what the f**k could be so important about corn that a college professor would talk about it for a month, and cause a well intentioned young man to drop out of college? It took me 31 years, but I started doing some research.

Man, corn is really important...and very popular! If you do a Google search on corn you get 62,500,000 hits. That's a lot of corn, but how does it compare to other vegetable queries? Well, carrots came back with a respectable 12,100,000 hits, cauliflower returned a mere 4,960,000 links and brussel sprouts turned up a meager 1,860,000 sites. My beloved potato returned a very respectable 55,400,000 hits, but in all fairness to corn, there are many more Irish posting on the internet than Aztecs.

Don't tell a cob of corn he's only good for steaming. No sir, there are more than 600 products made with corn (or corn parts) including adhesives, fuel, wheels, beer, shoe polish, cosmetics, chalk, firecrackers, latex paint, paper plates, toothpaste and whiskey. I wish I knew about the beer and whiskey in college.

How much corn do you think you need to plant to make all these products? Try 33 million hectares or roughly 3.5 trillion square feet of cornfields. That's one big field, and a $23 billion dollar industry. I'm starting to think the Olmec were onto something back in 1600 B.C.

It probably isn't important you know the history of corn when you nibble away at the buttered kernels, but it is pretty cool to know you aren't the first person to enjoy the summer harvest. Corn on the cob, hot August night, and the twinkling of the Milky Way. Hmmm, I wonder if they liked cucumber tomato salad?

Semper Fi

Gregory P. Baxter was laid to rest today with full Marine Corp Honors at All Saints Cemetery, North Haven, CT following a Mass of Christian burial. He was 59 years old; a young man.

Gregory was a veteran of the Vietnam War. He was also the father of Kimberley Chipello, Julie's good friend. Following the Mass at St Terese Church, in honor of her father, Kim read a letter he had sent to her on Veteran's Day in 2005. It said a lot about the man.

In it he described the fear of a young man sitting in a fox hole in 1967. In it he described as heroes not the dead, but every young soldier stepping off a boat or a plane onto the battlefield of today's conflicts. In it he lamented the loss of life of friends met 38 years earlier now immortalized on a reflecting wall in Washington. Unfamiliar names etched in stone to the casual tourist, each a flaming torch to those who served with them.

Despite being conflicted with survivor's remorse, he described his love of duty, honor and country . I think of valor on patriotic holidays when reflecting on my grandfather serving on the front lines in World War I, or my uncle dieing in Northern Africa in World War II. Regretfully, I sense most citizens never give service to one's country a second thought. Gregory, having been in the throes of war, thought about it every day.

I only met Gregory today. A funeral is an odd place to make an acquaintance, but through his letter and the words of his daughters, I met a fine man. Death helps the living harvest life's wheat from the chaff - only the best of a person survives. It is as it should be.

The Mass ended today with a beautiful commendation prayer calling on all the martyrs and saints to come and take the soul of Gregory to the merciful embrace of God. As the priest was saying his prayer, I had visions of the winged Archangel Michael coming down sword in hand to lead a soldier home. Semper Fidelis.

Planning for the Centennial

Well, I think we are all done celebrating birthdays for the 1957 crowd and everyone made it! Lori blew out the candles yesterday and is happily moving on to 51.

I don't really think 50 is much of a milestone anymore. Heck, we probably aren't going to be able to retire until we are in our 70's so what's the big deal? Nope, 100 is the new destination. Keep up the jumping jacks, I'm planning ahead for 2057!

Memoirs

There were houses,

There were hoses,

There were sprinklers on the lawn,

There was an ironing board,

And she would stand,

Amidst them understanding,

And ask the children what they'd done at school that day,

And the yard went on forever.

There were blouses with pink roses,

Checkered shirts and white Levis,

There was a frying pan,

And she would cook their dreams while they were dreaming,

And later she would send them out to play,

And the yard went on forever.

Is everybody safe?

Has everybody got a place to hide?

Is everybody warm inside?

- Jimmy Webb

Face of Things to Come

Hillary Clinton is probably going to be our next President. I'm not a fan of the Clintons, but I am actually looking forward to having someone other than a white male run the White House. I don't think there is a whole lot that can derail her chances as the momentum has been building since Susan B. Anthony established the suffrage movement in 1869. Unlike her husband, a tryst with Monica Lewinsky might even improve her popularity.

Personally, I think a Hillary win will lift the burden of being a white male as everyone knows we are the root of all evil. We also have all the money. If life is a monopoly game, and you are anything but a Caucasian wearing a jock strap, get ready to sell your house when you land on Boardwalk! According to Forbes, only 8% of the 946 billionaires in the world are women. 10 are self-made while at least 2 others inherited their moola from villains of the Wal-Mart Universe, Darth and Jabba Walton.

But a recent study of 21-30 year old college educated women working in New York City (whew! can I get a comma?), shows they earn $5,000 more than their male counterparts. Lest you think this chump change in the world of billionaires, it is the first time any group of gals has outperformed a group of guys since God breathed life into the nostrils of a clay figure. In other words, never.

Hey Jakers, are you paying attention to any of this? Papa is not the brightest guy in the world, but you might think about sucking up to your sister starting now. I have a feeling by the time you enter the work world, the name plate on your boss' door is going to read "Ayva".

You go girl!

Disclaimer: This post is not an endorsement of Hillary Clinton for President. Her views on life issues (namely, should you have one) is directly opposed to those of the editor, chief cook and bottle washer of Letters From the Moon. In the name of Mother Teresa, is there another female candidate on the horizon? Does anyone know how old you have to be to run for President? Ayva's vocabulary is expanding exponentially by the day.

Nothing Changes

From Wikipedia article:

The butterfly effect is a phrase that encapsulates the more technical notion of sensitive dependence on initial conditions in chaos theory. Small variations of the initial condition of a nonlinear dynamical system may produce large variations in the long term behavior of the system. So this is sometimes presented as esoteric behavior, but can be exhibited by very simple systems: for example, a ball placed at the crest of a hill might roll into any of several valleys depending on slight differences in initial position.

The phrase refers to the idea that a butterfly's wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that ultimately cause a tornado to appear (or prevent a tornado from appearing). The flapping wing represents a small change in the initial condition of the system, which causes a chain of events leading to large-scale phenomena. Had the butterfly not flapped its wings, the trajectory of the system might have been vastly different.

Really? The butterflies in Julie's flower garden just sip on nectar all day long. They've been coming to our house for years, monarchs and swallowtails mostly. Not much has changed so far as I can tell...but they sure are beautiful!

Seeker

Nathaniel sees into my soul. He is a good boy.

He is a lover. He is his namesake, a "gift from God".