Fat Is Where I’m At

All things are relative. I didn’t originate that phrase. Some German guy did. I just proved it.

My latest doctor’s appointment began with one of the assistants leading me to the scale. I stepped on and waited for the digital reading to appear. A few seconds later “209.0” flashed on the screen and I jumped for joy. The assistant wondered at my behavior and I explained that per the height/weight charts I had finally gotten myself out of the obese category. 210 was the dividing line.

When I arrived in Lancaster three and a half years ago, I weighed 247 pounds. So, I wasn’t just clinically obese then, I was 37 pounds into the category. By losing 38 pounds, I was now just plain fat. Halleluiah.

Most people wouldn’t be happy to be told they were overweight, but to someone who’s been obese for as long as he can remember, being just plain overweight was a cause for celebration. All things are relative.

Under normal circumstances a meal of bread and water would be considered a punishment, but to a man dying of thirst in a desert, a glass of water would be more precious than Dom Perignon Champagne. Someone who was starving would delight in a crust of bread. All things are relative.

Right now it’s pouring rain outside and I love it, because the usual precipitation around here in January is snow and I hate that. I’m sure there are others, like skiers, snowboarders, and my friend Patrice who would prefer snow. Once again, it’s all relative.

I just finished reading Where Nobody Knows Your Name, a John Feinstein book about life in baseball’s minor leagues. Most of the players were not too happy about being stuck in the minors, but there were a few who were happy that they were getting paid to play a game they loved. Even attitude is subject to relativity.

My target goal is to weigh 186 pounds. So, someday I may be disappointed to step on a scale and have it flash “187.” Not today, though. Today I am happy to be overweight. You might say that I’m now pleasantly plump. Someday I might be at Clipper Magazine Stadium for a Barnstormer’s ballgame and be disappointed by rain, but today, as it washes away all traces of the last snow dusting, I am happy to watch the rain fall.

To some, playing in the minor leagues might be a big disappointment. To me, at 68 years old with an arthritic hip, playing a sandlot game would be a dream come true. Attitude and relativity.

It’s warm today, but I know that most of the winter will be a lot colder and I will be cooped up in my apartment, but when I visit the local library I see a group of people who are there because they just want to stay warm and charge their cellphones and they don’t have their own apartments. They spend their nights in the Water Street shelter.

I am happy even when cooped up in my apartment, though. The cold winter days with the windows closed give me a chance to play my clarinet and saxophone. I’m not very good. Actually, I’m terrible. I bought the instruments when I moved here, despite the fact that I hadn’t played either instrument in 50 years. There are 59 notes that can be played on the clarinet, but, so far, I only remember how to play about half of them, and for some reason, I’m having a lot of trouble playing the note b flat. I haven’t yet developed the mouth control to make it come out cleanly. Every time I play b flat, it sounds more like an animal is screaming in pain, but I’m still having a ball playing simple songs poorly. I don’t think my neighbors are having near as much fun as I am, though. All things are relative.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl