Lights Out...For Now

I visited company headquarters today to say goodbye to colleagues and friends; tomorrow is my last day on the job. It's never easy to part ways. After 9 years and thousands of miles of travel, the people you sell with become a part of your life.

The time invested, lessons learned and moments shared, both personal and professional, dim with time, but ultimately shape who we are. A store manager at McDonald's who, when I was a 16 year old grill man. taught me all about company pride. An Air Force sergeant who drilled into me attention to detail, one uniform button at a time. A military supervisor who taught me the end of the work day wasn't measured by the clock, but on when you got the job done. A department store manager who showed me the way to motivate people was through an encouraging word. An insurance executive who constantly reminded me our only reason for being was to serve the client. A software executive who told me to operate with professionalism and integrity, and everything else would follow.

It's too early to reminisce about my recent past, but the day will come. The lessons and stories are written.

Early Summer

Sunshine and 85 degree weather all weekend - July came early this year. No complaints from the Mullen crew.

We took to the water on Friday with a canoe trip down the Willimantic River and ended the weekend with a Sunday afternoon trek to Long Island Sound. We're out of sunscreen already!

Passing on Life's Secrets

Life holds a lot of promise for my grandson, Nathaniel. Some things will be given to him, and others he will earn. Some things will be taken from him, and others he will give away. But all that living is for the years to come.

Today, Nathaniel learned to fly a kite courtesy of his Dad. He'll tell his friend about it tomorrow. He'll say you need to find a hill with an updraft and lots of open space. He'll say you toss the kite in the air to give it some lift and you keep the string taught until the wind takes hold of the kite. He'll say you let the string out a little at a time until the kite is way up in the air.

Years from now, he'll tell another friend about his Dad. He'll recall a sunny day on a hillside where his father taught him the lessons of patience, friendship and love using a kite as the prop.

Seeds sown today will blossom tomorrow.

Guided Transition

Last week I decided I was going to take a new path in life. Which path exactly, I haven't decided. This is a little scary to some in the family, but I thought if I kept a gentle heart and quiet mind for a little while, God would lead the way. So, I'm listening and looking for the signs.

Yesterday, Julie and I took a canoe trip down the Willimantic River on a stellar spring day. Bright sun, blue skies, gentle breeze and a river without rapids. A stress free day, time with my love and the beauty of nature, all good signs.

Well, 9 and 1/2 miles into a 10 mile trip the river brought us our only decision of the day as we approached an island in the stream - left or right? We picked right, not because we thought it best, but because left had already floated by. Right was the wrong choice.

The pace of the current picked up as we entered the channel and it brought us squarely into a downed tree. Like two idiots (we are two idiots) we grabbed a hold of an overhanging limb and, while we remained stationary, the canoe continued under the tree and filled with water.

Bouncing off the tree, the canoe started down stream once more, but without any occupants. Julie's shoes, our picnic basket and a paddle where racing alongside. The car keys, camera, cell phone (ringer was off!) and wallets were in a dry sack clipped to my seat in the canoe which at the moment was upside down in the Willimantic.

The two of us spent some time under water as well, but did manage to catch up with the canoe, right it and gather our belongings. Fortunately, the dry sack worked perfectly and we were spared the loss of our valuables, and a long walk home had the car keys become a sunken treasure.

Sopping wet and driving home, I was thinking about being open to signs from God. Full of imagination, I began to analogize the canoe trip as a possible foretelling of my new life - get 95% of the way there (wherever that is), and find yourself drowning underwater. Shit, one day into a change of life and I'm thinking maybe I should just go back to my desk job on Monday.

Nah! On second thought, I'm just going to get a better life jacket. God was just trying to tell us we should have turned left instead of right. Okay, next time Lord.

Taking Some Time to Think

Tomorrow I turn 52; there is nothing special about 52. It's just another number that comes after the initial "over-the-hill" birthday of 50, and before the official "retirement" age of 65. Actually, for us late baby boomers, Social Security has pushed out the full retirement age to 66 and 1/2 - rotten bastards.

Anyhow, I've been thinking about where I've been and have decided I'm going to take some time off to look for someplace else. I know this all sounds nebulous, the Land of Where I've Been and the Garden of Someplace Else, but I really do need a change. Too many days of wanting to stay in bed, or fooling myself into thinking, "life starts tomorrow."

I'm looking for happiness now. I'm looking for a brighter day today. I think I can find it.

I'll be heading down the rabbit hole on May 1st. Wish me luck!

Activist Judges

Our time on earth is coming to an end. The signs are all around us.

War in Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia and Sri Lanka. Increased tension in the Middle East. Religious intolerance and atheism on the rise. Crashing markets and the world on the brink of financial ruin. And now, from the news this week, a gay guy sabotaging the Miss America pageant.

Miss California was on her way to winning the title before she was derailed by a political question from a gay blogger on the definition of marriage. She stuck with the man and woman thing, and the sirens went off. Damn, and she had such lovely legs.

I mean, come on, can we bring some common sense back to the world? Any guy who doesn't feel a stirring in his loins during the bathing suit contest shouldn't be allowed to participate in the Miss America contest in the first place. I am all for tax equality, access to health insurance, and hate crime legislation, but take your hands off our women!

Seriously, after 80 years of evening gown interviews, Miss America still hasn't gotten her wish for "peace on earth", but now she's supposed to be the advocate for gay marriage? Hey fella, come back with your question once we get Miss America to come up with a solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Finally, on the topic of gay marriage, I don't think as a society we've thought through all the implications of changing the definition. Not to be condescending but if traditional marriage is between a man and a woman, and we refer to the parties as husband and wife, have we also just changed the definition of husband and wife? Father and mother? Well, probably not father and mother as biology seems to dictate who fits those descriptions. Still, is a husband a man, or could a husband be both a man and a woman? And what if I am a man but want to be referred to as a woman? Besides redefining marriage, I think we're going to have to add some new words to the family tree.

From a future volume of Webster's Dictionary:

Wuncle - the husband of one's gay aunt.

wun·cle

Noun

Etymology - previously referred to as "my other aunt", but with the introduction of gay marriage, the married partner of an aunt (female) is now referred to by a more traditional title of uncle (male). To distinguish between the historic translation of uncle as it relates to the male gender, a "w" was added to the word to indicate a special category of female uncles. Also see maunt - the wife of one's gay uncle.

Use Case - Family Christmas grab bag wish list - "Wuncle Pat - 3 pack of underwear/XL".

Had Wuncle Pat identified herself as Uncle Pat, an unsuspecting nephew would have purchased a 3 pack of size 42 front fly jockey shorts for men. Wuncle Pat would likely have seen this innocent mishap as a bigoted attempt at humor and would still be in need of 3 pair of underwear.

Life really is complicated.

Photo not owned or taken by me.

1-800 Excommunicated

Now that we hear the incessant ring of the cell phone, my favorite sound in life is nails on a chalkboard. Seriously, I'm beginning to enjoy crying babies, cars that backfire, 1st graders playing the viola, even Roseanne Barr singing the national anthem, but could you please turn off the damn cell phone?

On Sunday I went to an outdoor Mass at the National Shrine of the Divine Mercy in Stockbridge, MA. As we lined up for Communion, a guy in front of me was talking on his cell phone! He was in line to receive the Eucharist and he was having a casual chat with someone other than God. No clandestine attempt to hide the fact he was on the phone, but instead he strolled up to the altar with one hand in his pocket and the other on a cell phone protruding from his ear.

"Hey, can you hold on a second....Lord, I'm not worthy to receive you, but just say the word - amen....okay, I'm back. You still there?"

I've complained about this before. It started with the phone ringing in church. Embarrassed, the guilty party would hastily rummage through pockets and purse to turn off the phone. That happened often enough that some idiots began to answer the phone instead of turning it off. Now we have the brazen few who carry on a conversation as if no one else is around, including the Lord. It really does diminish the sacredness of the moment.

Look Out Madison Avenue

Destined to be an entrepreneur, Ayva has come up with the latest in Easter Bunny designer fashion - Pony Tail Bunny.

Bored with just looking at any one of the 50 rabbits we had laying around the house (even stuffed bunnies multiply), Ayva took the rings from an egg puzzle and turned them into hair scrungies. Some bunnies got a pony tail, a few others pigtails. In a scene straight out of LA Fitness, everyone was color coordinated.

Ayva, have your mom call the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office right away!

Sign of the Times

The economic slowdown has made its way into our kitchen. Witness the birthday celebration we had at our house on Easter Sunday where Julie baked a birthday cake for two birthday boys, John and Geoff. That's one cake, one candle and two guys from two separate families. We sang a single rendition of "Happy Birthday", gave them both a knife, and told them to have at it - best man wins!

It's survival of the fittest. These are tough times.

By the way, no one got hurt...and there were no leftovers.

Rolling Back the Stone

Happy Easter Sunday to all my friends and family. A small sampling of the Mullen Clan celebrated the Eucharist together at Saint Joseph's Cathedral in Hartford. The Mass was spectacular and punctuated with the glorious voices of the choir and brilliance of the organist, Ezequiel Menendez. The morning sun shining through the 70 foot stained glass windows filled the church with a rainbow of color. It was a perfect morning.

One for the Bunny and One for Jesus

You're never too old to color an Easter Egg. Julie, Keyla and the kids decorated 2 dozen tonight. As creative as the adults are in our household, the kids still painted the best eggs. The recipe is easy - just keep dipping the egg in every color on the table and the result is a masterpiece.

At least that's what Nathaniel and Ayva told me.

Happy Easter!

Photo by Julie.

Holy and Great Friday

On this Holy and Great Friday (he hagia kai megale paraskeue in the Greek Liturgy) , words from the beautiful heart of the late Henri Nouwen, Catholic priest, lover of the outcast:

As I look, my eyes begin to recognize the anguish and agony of all the people for whom you gave yourself. Your broken heart becomes the heart of all of humanity, the heart of all the world. You carry them all: abandoned children, rejected wives and husbands, broken families, the homeless, refugees, prisoners, the maimed and tortured, and the thousands, yes millions, who are unloved, forgotten and left alone to die. I see their emaciated bodies, their despairing faces, their anguished looks. I see them all there, where your body is pierced and your heart is ripped apart. O compassionate Lord, your heart is broken because of all the love that is not given or received.

Thank you, Lord for the wisdom of Father Nouwen, and give me the strength and compassion to go beyond the boundaries of my own discomforts to embrace and love all who yearn for your love. Lord, in the spirit of Simon of Cyrene and with great humility, I pray the love I give, granted from you, contributes to the healing heart of our collective souls, and I seek forgiveness for my moments of indifference that added to the burden of the Cross you bore.

Understanding the Local Culture

I was in Portsmouth, NH on Wednesday for business and took the opportunity to fulfill a Lenten vow to return to the place of my Baptism, Immaculate Conception Church. I was hoping to go to the 7:00 a.m. Mass listed on the website, but it turns out I was looking at an outdated website. Not only wasn't there a 7:00 a.m. Mass, but there was no Immaculate Conception.

Actually, the church itself is still there but the sign outside now says "Corpus Christi" and daily Mass is at 12:10 p.m.. Apparently the Diocese of Manchester needed to consolidated 3 parishes into 1, a form of ecclesiastical magic, and as in a marriage, the woman gave up her last name to the man. Mary always says yes to everything.

Hey, Mullen!....can you get back to the story?

Okay, I walk into Corpus Christi - Immaculate Conception at 6:45 a.m. and there are no lights on. I can hear someone fussing around in the vestibule so I'm figuring the priest is donning his vestments and the Portsmouth faithful will be rolling in right behind me.

"Excuse me, Father is that you back there? Father?"
A scruffy man dressed in jeans and a mechanic's jacket strolls across the altar, "Nah, I ain't the priest, but can I help ya?"
"Ah, yes...I am here for the 7:00 a.m. Mass."
"Oh. Well gosh, there ain't been a 7:00 a.m. Mass here for least 2 years, but then agin you already writ bout that in your 1st paragraph so I ain't tellin you nothin new."
"That is really bad news. I'm from out of town and trying to find a Mass to keep up my Lenten promise. Is there another church nearby with a morning Mass?"
"You could go to St. James for the 8 o'clock service."
"St. James? How would I get there?"
"You ain't from round here?"
"No, I told you that in the paragraph that started with 'that is really bad news'. I was really excited about going to the 7:00 a.m. Mass at Immaculate Conception because I was baptized there, here actually, in 1957."
"1957? My brother was born in 1957."
"Nice, now back to the directions to St. James, please."
"Alright, but let's walk outside to the front of the church and I can give you better directions."

So, the two of us strolled down the center aisle and as we passed the baptismal font I tried to recall the washing in the water. As hard as I tried, the earliest memory of my life I could come up with was being scolded for pooping in my underwear. It must have been my 1st day out of diapers.

MULLEN! Get back to the story!

The janitor opened wide the doors to Corpus Christi and we stepped out of the threshold onto the sidewalk, "Wait, what the heck was I talkin bout, my brother weren't born in 1957 - he graduated from high school in 1957."
"St. James, sir?"
"Oh yeah, well here's what you want to do. Go straight down this street and when you come to a fork in the road, keep to your left. If you go to the right it'll be a dead end and you'll have to come back and start all over agin. So stay left and then you'll see another split but this times stay right and go through the light."
"Okay, straight, bear left, bear right and go to the light."
"Nah, don't go to the light, go through the light. You'll see a gas station a couple blocks down and then a donut shop and some apartment buildings and a fire station and then the light. Anyhow, once you go through the light keep going until you git to Route 1."
"Are you talking about the area up near Wal-Mart? I've been there."
"Yep, it's near there but St. James ain't that far up Route 1. Matter fact, if you see VIP, you gone too far."

TIMEOUT. I know I diverge but at this point I need to explain what VIP means to me. You see, in Connecticut there is an adult entertainment (porn) retail chain named VIP that has prominently situated themselves adjacent to the major shopping malls. They also own a billboard truck and drive around town advertising seasonal gifts in case you were looking for a vibrating egg for Easter. Satan, is that you?

"There is a VIP near St. James Church?"
"Yep, but if you get near the VIP, you'll want to turn around and go back to St. James."
"Amen, to that! Thanks for the directions."
"Uh, yeah, whatever. Nice to meet ya, sir and good luck."

As I was forking left and right I couldn't help but thinking of what an odd brain a guy would have to have to give directions to a church by using a porn shop as a landmark. Despite the finely detailed instructions from my twisted janitor friend, I never did see a donut shop. After driving 10 minutes longer than I should have without seeing Route 1, I stumbled upon Ocean Avenue and took a left to, sure enough, connect with Route 1. But now I was near Wal-Mart which according to my buddy was north of both St. James and VIP. I continued down Route 1 with my eyes peeled expecting to see a video billboard featuring a juicy red-lipped vixen in skimpy lingerie.

Well, just in front of me, I did see a small neon sign for VIP - a local auto parts store - advertising a tire sale. Oops. Just as my mechanically minded friend told me, St. James was on the corner of the next block.

Dear God, thank you for hard working, virtuous church maintenance men. I know it was wrong of me to judge, Lord, but I was a little worried about who we had polishing the tabernacle. Your humble servant, Robert.

Granddaughter

No prose today. Nothing to rant about either. Not even a tidbit about the Catholic Church. Nope, today is Ayva day!

Hi, Ayva!

I love you,

Papa

Coming Down the Home Stretch

Lent will be coming to an end on Holy Saturday. My journey this year has been fulfilling and I was able to share pieces of it with a lot of folks I love. I hope yours was just as beautiful.

I always look forward to the special services of Holy Week starting with Palm Sunday. One of my favorite Masses of the year is the Chrism Mass celebrated at the local Cathedral with most of the parish priest in attendance. It's the Mass to kick start the week and in it the Bishop blesses the oils used in the Sacraments throughout the year. Attend if you can. It's a great way to show support for your parish priest.

The Triduum of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil is packed with so much tradition it can carry you through the whole year. Everything about our faith is wrapped up in the 3 days of worship, and moving from the sorrow of the Crucifixion to the joy of the Resurrection points us in the direction of hope.

Dust off your missalette, clear the calendar and participate! If you do, you will find Easter Sunday to be so much more than a chocolate bunny and marshmallow peeps. Keep me in your prayers and I'll keep you in mine. It'll be our own spiritual Twitter!

Blessing

A friend of mine gave me a book to read today, Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton. I'm only on page 4 of the introduction and I'm already inspired. From G.K. comes the following poem (prayer):

Here dies another day
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world round me;
And with tomorrow begins another.
Why am I allowed two?

At the end of this perfect day, I say, "Thank you, God for the gift of friendship."

Rave Against My Blog

Following in the footsteps of a string of anti-Letters from the Moon comments deriding my belief in Christianity and labeling me an ideologue, protesters have stormed Moon Mullen headquarters in an attempt to shut me down.

I knew it would come to this eventually, but based on the paltry reader stats as tracked through Google Analytics, I never guessed it would occur this quickly. There are definitely more protesters outside my window than there are followers of Letters from the Moon. I think some people just like to riot.

Anyhow, since the downturn in the economy I've been getting our family ready for the revolution. Every week, along with our normal grocery items, I've been buying a case of baked beans and a box of shot gun shells. Dating back to the years when we feared the nuclear Soviet Union, I had begun construction of an underground fallout shelter. So long as the mob leaves within 30 days, I've got enough chow, water and bullets to wait them out.

Okay, so this is a lame attempt at an April Fool's post. Then again, maybe not - most everything posted on Letters from the Moon is foolish. Walter Mitty, I love you.

Photo from Xinhua/Reuters