Westword, Volume XLI

Here on the back page, we like to think of Westword as a place of refuge from some of the modern corporatespeak and humdrummy talking points which frequently bombard us all in our day-to-day lives. A port, if you will, to provide shelter from bullet-points and keywords while the tempest of your to-do list closes in. A text message from a friend, perhaps, written in just the tone and tenor with which they would have uttered it, instead of indecipherable internet shorthand. You get the picture.
 
So when we – and yes, I know that WE is just ME, but WE sounds more impressive – heard about the big hullaballoo this month with Rob Gronkowski and Julian Edelman and the “Next Chapter” theme, WE sprung into action.
 
(Fine. WE will go back to first-person singular now if you insist.)
 
At first, I thought it was a chip-shot-through-the-uprights easy topic to write about. I mean, it seems easy to talk about superstar pro athletes becoming broadcasters, or broadcasters becoming magazine moguls, or weekly Westwood wannabe writers becoming monthly Westwood wannabe writers.
 
Then I thought beneath the surface and discovered there is more. For example, Monday of last week featured me going to the office and returning to have dinner at home, followed by a little writing and then some TV time hanging with the Gem. But Tuesday was the NEXT chapter – you see, it featured me going to the office and returning to have dinner at home, followed by a little writing AND LAUNDRY and then some TV time hanging with the Gem.
 
See the difference? And if you don’t, do you at least see Phil Dunphy’s influence here?
 
Anyway, after your guffaws subside, let’s huddle up and get back to the game plan. Helmet, the upcoming portion of this column ought to be called the next “Next Chapter” chapter!
 
Back to the process. Because then my thoughts turned inward and the brow furrowed. I closed the laptop and pondered the chapters of my life. As a linear thinker and a numbers guy, questions arose – have I had five chapters? Fifty chapters? Six hundred and four? And who is to decide?
 
Maybe it’s not about evenly spaced-apart mileposts. No book has the same number of pages in each chapter.
 
Was it a next chapter when I started middle school? High school? College? Was it a next chapter when I met The Gem? Proposed, got married, bought a house, had two kids, just sent one off to that same college…all next chapters, right?
 
Or are those the major section headings and there are a bunch of other chapters and sub-chapters?
 
Things started coming to me almost chronologically: Christmases and Doug Flutie miracles; Wolverine days, my first car, Winnipesaukee summers; drives to Newport, date nights at Olivadi; Mattapoisett and vacations with the kids…and those vacations without the kids.
 
And of course, calling games from Flahive Field every fall (thirty-three chapters and counting!)
 
Each memory unlocked a series of tangential ones, and all of them brought to mind the FACES of the people who were there (and clearly a few footballs). The furrowed brow unfurrowed and a smile crept on to my lips, as I realized it would be impossible for me to truly follow the theme of this month’s issue.
 
For you see, every sunrise, every kiss, every family dinner, every phone call is the next chapter. Every business deal, every bingo game, every nonplussed reminder from a pedometer, every email from someone who thinks we really might drain Buckmaster, EVERYTHING! Next chapters are beginning all around us all the time, while at once previous chapters continue, and some come to their end.
 
Sometimes you see them coming a mile away. Some you don’t even realize until they’re behind you. Stop me if you’ve heard it before, but this is the secret sauce. Thanks for sharing it.
 
Now hold on to this issue, it is a special one! Maybe WE will re-read it a few chapters down the road from here, as the memories touch down permanently in our hearts.
 
Westwood Living? No…thank YOU for living in Westwood. See you next month and I look forward to hearing from you any time at jayresha@comcast.net