Awakening

“Then both (the rebellious younger son and the resentful older) sons in me can be generally transformed into the compassionate father. This transformation leads me to the fulfillment of the deepest desire of my restless heart. Because what greater joy can there be for me than to stretch out my tired arms and let my hands rest in a blessing on the shoulders of my home-coming children?”
-Henri J. M. Nouwen; The Return of the Prodigal Son

I awoke early following a thoroughly restful sleep. And I awoke with the memory that I had dreamt of travel - at least it seemed like travel. There were mountains and trees and rocks and seas and sand and surf and a great expanse of wide open golden autumn prairie. Denise was there with me as were J, M and K. My parents and grandparents and their parents were with us too. And yet, with all this variance of geography and in the presence of all these people, we were always here at our home. I awoke without thought of more travel but with the contentment of being home...grounded. And I awoke also without conscious thought of its arrival.

Later, I stood looking eastward from the crest of a hill just north of my Nebraska home with the valley of the Missouri River laid out before me. This is a tranquil place beneath oak and pine, with constant breeze and a grand sweeping view of the valley below.

The Missouri River Valley traces the journey of the Missouri River from its beginnings as the Madison, Jefferson and Gillatin Rivers converge in Montana to its confluence with the Mississippi River in Missouri. At 2,300 miles (3,700 km) long this valley drains one-sixth of the United States, and is the longest river valley on the North American continent.

Here, on this east-facing hillside, there is nothing to impede the approach of an endless series of sunrises. Mornings arrive as a trumpeter to time eternal upon this peaceful home to lives gone by. And on this day I was drawn to this place. For it is here that my family entrusted the earthly remains of my Mother after her death on September 17, 2001. That was a day and a time from which a part of me can never return. And it was fitting that it arrived on this day and in this place. A half-century prior to this very moment, I entered this world within ten miles of this place. And today “fifty” has arrived and it has found me here.

I find it fascinating how one thing affects another. Not like the rain affects the watershed which in turn affects the flow and convergence of rivers. That connectivity implies a certain predetermined outcome. I think that life is more “fluid” than water in rivers. Life refuses the encumbrance of banks and contours and gravity. I have never before really thought much about this but I am astonished at the pervasive nature of past decisions upon our current and future being. And I stand here today in testament to a pivotal day fifty years ago when my mother would decide my fate, and ultimately that of my wife and children as well.

Four months prior to delivery, her ominous breaking of water appeared to doom her unborn son. Acting against the advice of physicians she listened instead to a Catholic nurse and to her heart. She would reject the presented notions of “complication” and “probability” and she would instead choose life. She understood, and resolved to assume, the awful risks and rewards of that lonely choice of life long before “choice” and “life” came to define opposing viewpoints.

And since then, my life has been wondrous…at least to me. And, as I’ve often heard “older” people say, it’s passed by in a blink. Never before had I thought to sum up my life as a series of key moments. Try this for yourself. At first thought, there seem to be only a scarce few really pivotal moments that define, or alter the course of, your life. But once considered there are countless causes for influence. And they are not all big, and they are not all yours. One change here, one seemingly small decision there, another choice, another turn, another event…the list seems to grow and expand upon itself like the universe. And everything works together symphoniously to deliver you and those around you to here and to now. It’s remarkable and marvelous. What a blink it’s been!

Thinking back to my dream, I realize that perhaps it was the literal impression of my life. And as I considered this possibility, I realized something more. My entire life has been about childhood…first my own, and later my children's. And today, as fifty settles into my psyche, I suspect that I am now ready to embark upon adulthood.

Thanks Mom – I love you.

Drinking In the Wallas

Denise and I have just returned from a wonderful week in Washington State with J and MG. We arrived on 17 September, the Irish Equinox. After a couple of days knocking around Redmond and Seattle our plans called for a road trip southeast through the Cascades toward the Columbia River Valley. Our destination was the wine country of Walla Walla.

Rumor has it that Seattle occasionally experiences gray and damp dreary weather. Can this be true? My first visit to the “City of Rain” was 2-1/2 years ago when I moved J to the City following her graduation from ISU. Since then Denise and I have visited J six or seven times and have witnessed the phenomenon of atmospheric condensation only once…on our way to the airport. Typically, we have enjoyed variations of 70’s and sunny and gorgeous! Moisture of every kind - rain, drizzle, sprinkles, mist, even humidity - has generally respected our presence in the Great Northwest and awaited our departure to settle in with its dreariness. And we’ve always thanked MG and J for this. They’ve performed admirably at keeping all aspects of our visits under tight control and thoroughly enjoyable.

Imagine our surprise as we awoke on our third day to a steady Seattle misting. Perhaps this was a common occurrence in September, but not on my watch. The mist, not quite a drizzle just hung in the air, not really falling, not really accumulating. It just "was". And to me the morning misting was nothing short of spectacular. But alas this day of weather, only the second that we have ever encountered here, would be left behind as we made final preparations to depart for our road trip.

We headed southeast from Redmond (A) through Issaquah and Snoqualmie and onto I-90 through the Snoqualmie Pass (B). Snoqualmie Pass traverses the Cascade Range at a maximum elevation of 3,022 feet and is the largest east-west mountain route across Washington State. On this day we traveled through a steady battery of fog and drizzle as our vehicle approached and climbed the Cascades. Near the summit of the pass however, we whisked through a virtual wall of weather and escaped into a clear blueness of sky, brilliance of sunshine and dryness of land. This instantaneous change was a striking climatic phenomenon that stood in stark contrast to the weather held at bay by the rising terrain of the Cascade Range.

We proceeded through Ellensburg, Yakima and Zillah and after three hours we had traveled 190 miles to Prosser, Washington (C). We paused our journey for fuel and a long awaited release of spent Starbucks. Not so coincidentally, we found ourselves just down the street from three wineries. 11:00 a.m. and the tasting room is open. Halleluiah!

Prosser is located in Washington’s first appellation, the Yakima Valley. It’s located in the south central portion of Washington State, approximately equidistant from Seattle, Portland, and Spokane. It sits on the same parallel as the famous Bordeaux region of France.

The vines at Airfield Estates date back to 1968. Today, they grow 26 different wine grape varietals. All of their vineyards are within 3 miles of a former WWII airbase. They served six wines in their tasting and being their only “customers” we also enjoyed the luxury of a short tour of their facilities. Naturally we purchased several souvenirs.

We offered equal opportunity to each of three vineyards…Airfield Estates, Olsen Estates and Willow Crest Winery…mmmBoy! Unfortunately, we failed to frequent the remaining twenty-one wineries that reside within a 4-mile radius of our location including Columbia Crest, Hogue Cellars, Kestrel Vintners and Masquerade Wine Company…Next time.

Within two hours we were back in the car and slightly abuzz. We continued eastward paralleling the Columbia River and the Oregon border. We traveled 80 miles in a little over an hour and arrived safely to our destination.

But wait! Lest you misunderstand my intentions, I’d like to stop for a moment and quell any silly notions that there is some sort of double entendre here with the title ”Drinking in the Wallas”. Despite our enjoyment of these winemaker’s wares and our pure satisfaction with the refreshing nature of their products, you must remember that "Drinking in the Wallas" is all about the scenery!

Let’s break it down this way…

drink·ing [dring-king]
-noun, habitual and excessive consumption of alcohol: His drinking caused him to lose his job.
…I know what you’re thinking but that’s not what I meant.

-adjective, The practice of partaking to excess of intoxicating liquors
. Addicted to or indulging excessively in alcohol: Is he a drinking man?
…Well, maybe but not technically “addicted”.

-verb (used without object), to show one's respect, affection, or hopes with regard to a person, thing, or event by ceremoniously taking a swallow of wine or some other drink (often followed by to): They’re drinking to his victory.
…Hmmm, a nice concept but it didn’t happen to me.

-verb (used with object), to take in through the senses with eagerness and pleasure (often followed by in): They’re drinking in the beauty of the place.
…That’s more like it. Perfect. Now for the Wallas.

Wal·las [wol-uhs]
- interj., In its singular form, often confused with the snobbish French term “voilà!” used to call attention to or express satisfaction with a thing shown or accomplished: Mix the ingredients, chill, and - voilà! - a light, tasty dessert.
…Although phonetically accurate and a perfect analogy to the products of the region, I’m talking about a place.

-pl. noun, of or pertaining to multiple Walla (often followed by another Walla): There are many fine wine tasting opportunities in Walla Walla; a town in southeastern Washington near the Oregon border touted as “the next Napa”.
…Excellent.

Now put them both together. Voi·là! Dinking in the Wallas simply means that we like being here and enjoy taking in all that these hills and valleys have to offer…scenery wise. And if necessary we’re willing to tolerate a bit of the vino to fill our otherwise idle time and stay here longer.

So, back to our story…

Walla Walla was incorporated in 1862 during a gold rush. Within ten years it was the largest community in the territory of Washington and was at one time slated to become the new state’s capital. Walla Walla is a Native American term meaning “Land of many waters” though proud residents brag that it’s “the town so nice, they named it twice”.

Up at the crack of dawn we enjoyed a hearty breakfast of chardonnay, merlot, cabernet and syrah. I think we also had some light wafers. We took in the natural beauty of the following wineries (listed alphabetically) on our second and third days…

a’Maurice Cellars, Ash Hollow, Basel Cellars Estate Winery, Beresan, Bookwalter Winery, Chateau Rollat Winery, Cougar Crest Winery, Dunham Cellars, Gifford Hirlinger, L’Ecole No. 41, Morrison Lane, Reininger, Three Rivers Winery, Trust Cellars, Va Piano Vineyards, Walla Walla Village Winery, Waterbrook Winery and Waters Winery.

This list was compiled by memory and rumor has it that we actually visited a few more. It just got a bit fuzzy there toward the end of the second day. My personal favorites were Airfield Estates (in Prosser and referenced above), Gifford Hirlinger and Waters Winery.

Mike Berghan is the winemaker for Gifford Hirlinger. He's pictured above with Denise and I. This is a small estate winery, meaning they grow their own grapes, owned and operated by the Bergham family. Gifford and Hirlinger were the last names of relatives on the paternal and maternal sides respectively that crossed the Country on covered wagons to settle in Walla Walla. The winery was established in 2001 on ten acres just on the Washington side of the state line. Their beautiful estate, wonderful winery building and tasting room and two charmingly friendly border collies named Charlie and Chewy make for a memorable visit. Their excellent wine is a bonus. They poured each of their three wines for tasting. We bought one of each.

Waters Winery is a small boutique winery established in 2005 by its Founder Jason Huntley and Winemaker Jamie Brown. They maintain that their winemaking approach is influenced by their “preference for distinct, old world wines that express the time and place of their origin”.

The approach to Walters Winery offers a spectacular view of the valley. And their winery building and tasting room is grande. Its tall wood and glass doors expand outward to covered patios with views of the surrounding rural farms and mountain landscapes…breathtaking!

The winery dog at Waters, a glorious black lab, was as aptly named for the dog as for the place as for the wine…Beauty. And again, the wine was a bonus. They were pouring seven wines for tasting. We bought five bottles!Inspired by the periodic table of elements, Waters Winery has collaborated with Gramercy Cellars to produce “Wines of Substance”. This is an economical brand selling for under $20 that is remarkably good. This brand won the best label design in 2007.

And when we were though, we ventured homeward with inner warmth born of the earth and the vine and the skillful hands and minds of many vintners. Safely stowed in the trunk of the car was the burden of several cases of “souvenirs”. This was indeed an enjoyable road trip. And I eagerly await our next opportunity to drink in the splendor of the Wallas.

Irish Equinox

Everyone should dream up a holiday and celebrate it annually. Since September 17, 2002, mine has been the Irish Equinox. My (semi-fictitious) historical premise it this…

The Irish Equinox is that famed moment on the Celtic calendar where modern man stands in the balance precisely equidistant between the sunsets of two concurrent St. Patrick’s Days. And all whose lips taste the extra-cold creamy surge and settle goodness of Guinness (or Harp Lager for a slightly lesser experience of fulfillment) precisely at sundown, will enjoy the good fortune of St. Patrick himself (except for the enslaved by Irish Raiders bit) until the next coming of this celestial holiday.

The word equinox derives from the Latin words aequus (equal) and nox (night). The word Irish derives from the Irish word Irish (Irish). More technically, according to Wikipedia, “At an equinox, the Sun is at one of two opposite points on the celestial sphere where the celestial equator (i.e., declination 0) and ecliptic intersect. These points of intersection are called equinoctial points - the vernal point and the autumnal point. By extension, the term equinox may be used to denote an equinoctial point.” By my calculations, accounting for age, body mass and past experience, my “equinoctial point” on this day is usually somewhere south of four pints!

This year I celebrated with Denise, J and MG at the Wilde Rover Irish Pub in Kirkland, Washington. Kirkland is a suburb of Seattle with a population approaching 50,000. Sunset descended upon us at 19:18 Pacific Time and was promptly met with the sound of pint against pint and a hearty Cheers! Another year of luck assured.

I have recently realized that some pubs celebrate this very day as their "six-months to St. Patrick's Day" celebration. This is good as you would be well advised not to screw around with future luck. So mark your calendars for next September's Irish Equinox and prepare to join me and any other luck-seeking blokes, for a pint of Irish luck in the pub of your choosing. We'll hoist “cheers to your health and that of your mother” at precisely sundown (local time).

Beloved Boo!

"Sometimes we simply have to believe."
-Enzo Swift

It was October 1997 when Dover B Riley Boo! entered our lives as a fabulously unexpected surprise to our children. They were 13, 10 and 7. Lexi, our first dog, was almost 4 and Dover would prove to be a wonderful and worthy companion to all.

Both of our dogs are female American Eskimos. The traits of this breed (by my own personal observation) are snuggly yet protective, loyal yet independent, proud yet obedient, and remarkably clean, intelligent and hairy. We love these dogs!

Dover B Riley Boo! was named, as was our first dog Lexi Mae Bailey Bud, by grand family compromise. Initially K, our youngest, clung stubbornly to the name “Darlene” but soon softened. After a week or so with no feasible agreement in sight, I began to use the universally rejected “Darlene” name as incentive to achieve a viable compromise. That strategy proved quite effective as the name Dover B Riley Boo! quickly surfaced and sailed through the family arbitration process. At the insistence of our children, the “Boo!” was included as a reflection of the fall season as well as a declaration of their surprise at the sudden arrival of a second dog.

The naming of dogs is an interesting process. It is so permanent and so personal. And I suppose that everyone has their own reliable dog naming “system”. Mine is simple. First, imagine yourself standing on the front porch of your house in your underwear with a need to get your dog’s attention. Then, under these most precarious conditions, shouting your dog’s name either melts away your last remaining shreads of dignity or it doesn't. I think everything becomes either black or white when you're shouting on your front porch in your underwear. There's not alot of room for graytones. After all, it’s your porch, your dog, your voice, your underwear and your neighbors who bear witness. So, this name you've chosen either works or it doesn’t. DOVER!! works. DARLENE!! doesn't. LEX!! works. TRIXY!! doesn’t. See? It’s simple.

The use of real names versus short names or nicknames is another matter. This is purely a function of affection, urgency and efficiency. “Dover-B” and “Lexi Mae” were very popular with our kids. “Bud” and Boo!” were less popular but still frequently used. Sometimes I’d use “LEXIMAE!!” or “DOVERTHEDOG!!" if I was really intent on attention getting. Those always worked for me. My personal favorite though was always “TWO-DOGS!!!!" That seemed to get right to the point. It also fit my “underwear scenario” nicely and I enjoyed the increased efficiency over the repetition of individual name calling.

In stark contrast to Lexi’s purple-ribbon show dog genealogy, Dover’s pure-bred roots were that of a farm family. She was born on a small farm south of Missouri Valley, Iowa. Eleven years in the city limits of Omaha has never really diminished her natural desire to lay in the grass or the snow or the sun or the rain and scour the horizon of our property for intruders. She loves chasing rabbits and once trapped an opossum on our deck railing. But her favored nemesis' are the squirrels. She can tree a squirrel and sit for hours in the shade below looking upward as an angry squirrel returns the gaze in disgust and scolds her…chik-chik-chik!!! To Dover, a bad day of squirrel treeing beats the best day of ball chasing, pole sniffing and house sleeping.

And Dover's propensity for the outdoors leads her naturally to her favorite indoor spot at the front windows, looking out in wonder at the nature and activity beyond the glass. And her reaction to visitors gives the impression of being fiercely protective of our family and home. Upon the arrival of guests, she will often stand off in the living room and bark and "complain" despite our admonishments. To differentiate her from Lexi, our guests often refer to Dover as “the mean one”. Although utterly inaccurate, this pseudonym is almost universally deduced with the notable exception of our trusted HVAC man, a good friend, who Lexi leapt up and nipped in the crotch once. Lexi has since been “the mean one” to him. But after a short warming up period, Dover graciously accepts guests as she does our children. She is indeed the most snuggly of dogs and will tolerate any discomfort for another minute of lap lying. She loves to be held close.

Two weeks ago Dover began to pant in her sleep. Last week we noticed a prolonged hesitancy during her “yard breaks” and difficulty climbing stairs. She immediately underwent blood testing and x-rays which revealed a growth on one kidney. Yesterday, fifteen days prior to her eleventh birthday and fifteen days after we ushered the last of our three daughters off to college, Dover underwent exploritory surgery for potential kidney removal which revealed a pervasive malignancy agressively attacking virtually every organ. She never regained consciousness. We miss her terribly.

What is it about a dog that so deeply touches the human psyche? They seem to have such a keen awareness of their surroundings and of their “Master’s” emotions. They know when we are coming and going or when we're happy or sad. They sense anguish and attempt, in their own way, to comfort it. Their propensity toward obedience and their resolute loyalty are stunning to behold. And these wonderful qualities never change or diminish over time or through circumstance. But the trait of dogs that cuts me the deepest, especially today, is their unfaltering trust in their “Master”. It’s a steadfast trust without need for proof or further resolve. It’s a trust that allows them to happily shadow your life without judgment or question.

And despite my knowledge that advanced warning and alternative options were unatainable to us, the fact remains that yesterday, blind trust in me would calmly and quietly lead my beloved Dover into a room without doors. My parting image as I turned to leave her for surgery, and forever seared into my memory like a wicked brand, is of two faithful black eyes looking up at me, searching, searching, searching and finally finding…more trust. How is it that yesterday’s trust can today feel so much betrayed? I hate that. Perhaps time forgives or forgets.

Some time ago I bought Garth Stein’s novel The Art of Racing in the Rain. I finished it two weeks ago, just prior to Dover’s turn of health. This is a charming, yet heart-wrenching story about the triumphant life of an aged dog named Enzo Swift and his family in Seattle. The story is narrated by Enzo in the waning hours before his death. Enzo believes that in the end he will return to another life as a man. This is a “life’s lessons” book that can teach everyone through Enzo’s observations and notable quotes. And if you love a dog, especially an older one, this is a must read. I bought this in part to begin to prepare myself for the inevitable declining health of Lexi. Little did I know that we would suffer the sudden unforseen loss of Dover, four years younger, just days after reading it. I suppose that it helps at times to think of Enzo’s prophetic words. And I like to imagine Dover dashing effortlessly through endless fields of soft cool grass under the brillient blue skies of her new home. And somewhere, I'm certain a squirrel is climbing.

Note to Self...

Dear Friends,

Tomorrow you will awake alone in your home for the first time in twenty-four years. And as you prepare for your day you will notice a feeling that is initially unidentifiable. Things will just feel different, you feel different. Instinctively you’ll think of your children, all in their places. Seattle? check. South Bend? check, Home?…scratch that, your baby has just been delivered to Ames..first day of college classes…check? Your natural reflex will be to greet this recalled fact with a reluctance to accept that everything has changed. But has it?

You can't avoid change, and you can't avoid good-byes. Likewise, you can't avoid a bit of reluctance in their eventual coming. Sending a child away to college or to a permanent job and home far away can be devastating if you mistakenly view it with regret. Leaving fond times and places behind for new ones can be bittersweet. This feeling is natural...but should not be consuming. Accept this change for what it is - and for what it is not. Change it is, but it is not the end of anything really. More accurately, it's the beginning.

Remember, you have prepared you children for these lives of theirs. You’ve groomed them for this. Your collective goal has always been to be where you (and they) are today. And today they are well on their way to being the independent, intelligent, thoughtful, loving, respectful adults that you’ve tried so hard to raise. Is there anything for which you would trade this feeling of satisfaction? All of your past desires, for you and for your children, are being fulfilled and yet there is still a natural longing for time gone by...for memories.

Your experiences over these past many years, as a parent to children at home, has fostered a treasure of wonderful and timeless memories that cannot be erased by time or distance or change. These will endure a lifetime. And not just yours, but all of your children’s and their children’s collective lifetimes. You are all forever bound even without being forever together.

You are experiencing a moment of parental triumph. After all, your quiet home is really a reflection of satisfaction…a job well done. And those feelings that you struggle to identify are feelings of happiness. Not perhaps in a literal sense but more of an acceptance…a solace.

My best advice is simply... get used to this feeling of triumph...embrace it. Life is full of the memories of the past, the apprehension of the future and the satisfaction of dealing with it all. And don’t forget that “M&D” has never just been “Mom and Dad”. It began as “Mike & Denise” thirty years ago, before J, M & K and there it has returned…strong as ever and then some.

Remember all of this my friends, and you’ll realize that your “nest” is far from empty.

Love,
-M&D

P.S…Call your parents.

So Moved

"Don’t you hear it? She asked & I shook my head no & then she started to dance & suddenly there was music everywhere & it went on for a very long time & when I finally found words all I could say was thank you."
-Brian Andreas

Its arrival, unassuming and simple as it was, foretold a monumental impression upon my spirit that I wouldn’t realize for weeks. And it wasn’t really intended for me.

The invitation read, in part:
“With praise and thanksgiving to almighty God, the Church of Pittsburgh, along with the family of Joseph Michael Freedy, joyfully announce his ordination to the Sacred Order of Priesthood through the Imposition of Hands and the Invocation of the Holy Spirit.”

Deacon Joe Freedy was a fourth year theological studies seminarian at the Pontifical North American College in Rome when he entered M’s life by chance or perhaps by prayer. He entered as M sat for lunch in the small dining room of her studio in Rome. He entered noticing her alone and he stopped and sat and spoke. He entered by the Grace of God…and he stayed.

Their meetings continued following this first encounter in mid-December and grew to be somewhat frequent. M began to rely upon these conversations on faith, friendships and family as they served to massage her stressed and tired emotions. Their sharing of thoughts would lift and hold a seeking spirit and would continually rejuvenate it. I recall phone conversations and e-mails that seemed so alive with this newfound spark born of the caring and sharing of Deacon Joe. As days became weeks and weeks became months their friendship continued over coffee, over conversation and over prayer. This friendship in words and deeds held deep and apparent meaning for a young student far from home. Soon M was introduced to Deacon Steve and David. By January she was enjoying Wednesday evening basketball in their pickup league. My young daughter from Omaha was in competitive sport with the Deacons in the Vatican City. What a memory!

But when it came, M read the invitation and, considering the logistics of cost and distance, she rationalized that an RSVP was futile. And when it came, Denise and I knew instantly that this trip would happen. Our flights to Pittsburgh were arranged that evening.

When considering an appropriate gift for someone so dear to her, and for such a monumental occasion, M recalled one of her last talks in Rome with Deacon Joe. He had explained to M his feelings about the character and persona of his namesake Saint Joseph. Joe was forever disappointed with traditional depictions of Joseph, husband to Mary, as a ruggedish carpenter and an older man. So Joe had imagined an image of Joseph for himself - an image to be imagined again and again as he thought of, and prayed to, his namesake Saint. Joe had described this image to M in vivid detail and M had decided that her special gift would be a drawing of Saint Joseph that no one had ever seen.


The Ordination was held at Saint Paul Cathedral, near the convergence of Pittsburgh’s three rivers, the Monongahela, the Allegheny and the Ohio. It was presided over by the Bishop of Pittsburgh, the Most Reverend David Zubik. The Ordination was a grand and powerfully moving event. But its power did not seem to emanate from one person or place or action. It was everywhere and it grew from the gathering, the procession, the promise of obedience, the supplication, the laying of hands, the investiture, the blessings, the calling of Saints and the many unified prayers. It grew from the visions of ritual, the rich aroma of incense and the heavenly sounds of the soprano Cantor. And it all wafted through the nave and transepts, from chancel to narthex and from floor to vault of the old Cathedral. It was all of this together; and it combined into a spiritual swirl and the unmistakable and absolute presence of the Holy Spirit! And in the end, there was a Priest...Father Joseph Michael Freedy. It was breathtaking.

There was a short reception following the Ordination at Saint Paul Cathedral. It was here where I was first introduced to Father Joe Freedy and received a blessing together with M by his fresh Priestly hand. I would later learn that a blessing from a newly ordained Priest holds a special power and meaning.

The lunch reception was held at the Student Union Ballroom at Duquesne University. This was my first opportunity to meet Father Joe’s parents and many of the Priests and Deacons that M had known from Rome. M and I shared a table with Deacons Steve and Ron and David.

The family’s evening reception was held at the home of Joe’s parents in Bethel Park. Upon our arrival M presented Father Joe with her drawing of Saint Joseph. This presentation was a powerful moment shared between them. He was predictably touched and clearly amazed. I decided to leave them alone to talk and found my way to the buffet and refreshments. Enjoying various conversations, I was quickly joined by Joe’s father. Over the course of an hour, I enjoyed wonderful conversations with Joe’s parents and each of his brothers and sisters. This is truly a wonderful family.

Father Ryan found me and introduced himself. We discussed Rome and his schooling and, to the best of my ability, we discussed the differences and similarities between Catholicism and Methodism. And then he slipped a small medallion from his pocket and blessed it. As he placed it in my hand, he began to explain the history and meaning behind this Miraculous Medal.

The Miraculous Metal was created by Saint Catherine Laboure following her sighting of the Virgin Mary. Mary reportedly came to Catherine wearing many rings, most of which shone rays of light. Asked why some of her rings did not shed light, Mary reportedly replied that those are the graces for which people forget to ask. Other imagery revealed in this sighting included a circle of twelve stars, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Immaculate Heart of Mary and the words “O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee”. Mary then asked Catherine to take these images to her father who should cast them into medallions. Mary said that all who wear them would receive great graces.

As M joined us, our conversation turned to The Rosary. M indicated that she had received a Rosary from Father Joe at her last meeting with him in Rome. He was on crutches with an ankle injury sustained during basketball. He had wanted to give her a gift but was unable to leave his home. Joe indicated that he had prayed that God would provide him a gift to give to M. On the morning of their meeting, Joe said that he was visited by a friend who was returning from travel and who gave Joe a Rosary he had brought from Lourdes, France. And this is the Rosary that Deacon Joe had given to M. M explained its significance and coincidence...a gift of Rosary from Deacon Joe and its origination in Lourdes, the location of the original Grotto replicated on the Notre Dame Campus. Then she held it out for us to see. It was little, but it was no small treasure to M. Unexpectedly, Father Ryan reached into his pocket and produced an identical Rosary. And pointing at himself, he said “I am the friend who traveled from Lourdes.” We were all three stunned by the sheer coincidence of this chance meeting. Before we left, Father Ryan held out his hand and gave me his Rosary saying, “You should have this that the two should stay close”.

Father Joe’s First Mass was a Mass of Thanksgiving on the Feast Day of St. Thomas More at Joe’s Family Parish, St. Thomas More Church in Pittsburgh. It was another incredible experience and such a privilege to witness.

Another reception followed. We spoke again with many new friends from the day and evening before. And as we prepared to depart, we thanked the Freedy family, Father Ryan, Father Mark, Deacon Steve and David. We approached the long line of Father Joe’s ongoing blessings of well-wishers with David. As David held the line’s attention, Father Joe turned to M and I and we received our blessings and said good-bye.

Then as we approached the exit, M caught the attention of one last person. The "Servants of the Pierced Hearts of Jesus and Mary" are a Diocesan Religious Institute founded in 1990 by Mother Adela Galindo in the Archdiocese of Miami, Florida. Mother Adela had led a group of Sisters to Pittsburgh to witness the Ordination of this young Deacon whom she had befriended in Rome. She had been a light for Joe, as he had been a light to M. M expressed her gratitude for past spiritual inspiration and said that we were leaving to catch our flight home. Mother Adela stopped and held M’s hands. Then as they talked, she noticing M’s necklace, and asked to see it. She studied the necklace. It held two Miraculous Metals. One miniature, received with blessing from a Priest who appeared from nowhere on bicycle as M approached the Catacombs south of Rome. The other received with blessing from Father Mark at the Freedy family reception on the previous evening. Smiling, Mother Adela held up the smaller medal and said “M, this is who you are.” And then lifting the larger medal, she said “…and this is who you will be.” I stood trembling silently behind my daughter, and was so moved, I began to cry.

I’m so grateful to have shared in the joy and triumph of Father Joe’s Ordination. The Deacons and Priests and Sisters were so incredibly wonderful to us. And the Freedy family all received M and me with such warmth that we felt very much at home in the midst of their family and friends. I knew the importance of this event to M but was unaware that the Ordination and First Mass would prove to be such powerful spiritual events for me…I'll never forget this. And I’m certain that Father Joe Freedy will remain a strong influence on M’s personal and spiritual life – now and forever.

Introducing MG - As I Recall Last Easter

The package was small and light. And it revealed nothing through by futile attempts at shaking. I surrendered reluctantly and opened the gift shipped from MG to the parents of his girlfriend whom he had yet to meet. The contents included two Washington state miniature license plates bearing our names, or rather the names given to us by MG in his inability to accurately recall our real names. One read “Milton” and the other “DeeDee”. M&D…nice one MG, an instant ice breaker for our future meeting.

The flight was uneventful except for the occasional turbulence as I passed over the Rocky Mountains on the ascent from Denver. As I, or more accurately, the plane and I, approached the Cascades I began to realize the potential significance of the rendezvous that awaited me. Perhaps temporary, perhaps not, but in either case, a meeting such as this is always significant. God, Mt. Rainier was stunning!

As expected, my driver was awaiting my arrival albeit without the customary black suit and placard reading “West”. J was there and I saw her smiling as I rode the terminal escalator down to meet her and my checked bag. I recall wishing that I had thought to plan my descent beneath an open umbrella. I was after all in Seattle, though I knew the day would offer a cloudless blue sky and brilliant sunshine. Habitually my closed umbrella remained at the ready within my carryon.

Then there was MG…my first “real” encounter. At our “actual” first, he was simply one of several brief handshakes with a group of J’s friends during a previous visit to Seattle and prior to his current elevated status in my daughter’s young heart. A worthy enough looking young man for J but the bar has been purposefully and permanently placed rather high. We’ll see.

His task had been simple enough. He was to seek out an establishment with Guinness on tap…no bottles. And a hearty Irish atmosphere would be a plus although he was unaware of this secret expectation. And it would have to be within close proximity of the airport so we could enjoy a couple of pints prior to our timely return to SeaTac for the arrival of a flight carrying Denise and K and Denise’s parents. We had a two hour widow and MG confidently sized up the challenge ahead and “approached the bar”.

Mick Kelly’s Irish Pub is in Burien, Washington and is located a mere 4 miles from SeaTac. J, MG and I were seated in shade outside the front of the pub. The tree-lined street and adjacent small shops gave the impression of a rather quaint neighborhood despite its proximity to the airport. That proximity after all was by necessity. The pints arrived, amply chilled in traditional Guinness branded tulip glasses. Within the confines of the tulip was the unmistakable surge and settle goodness of my favorite beverage. And on top, the obligatory shamrock artistically placed within the creamy head by an excellent barkeep as he concluded the draw.

Although Guinness Extra Stout is the namesake brew originated by Arthur Guinness in 1759, today Ireland’s most popular beverage is Guinness Draught. It made its debut two hundred years later when I was 6-months old. Who would have thought we would eventually grow so close. True to their advertised claims, the draught “incorporates a unique mix of nitrogen and carbon dioxide creating its liquid swirl that tumbles, surges and gradually separates into a black body and smooth creamy head”.

Upon our eventual downing of several pints of heaven we prepared to depart. As I awaited the check, I was informed by MG that our debt had been satisfied and that it was his pleasure. The "pleasure" as it were would be mostly mine as I was later informed that MG was not naturally of the Guinness-loving persuasion. Ahh...strike 1. Then as we returned to the car, I noticed MG grinning and holding out a box procured privately in the pub…a box for me. The contents included six clean tulip pint glasses bearing the Guinness brand. Hmmm…Strike notwithstanding, MG “approaches the bar” indeed!

Then off we were to the airport and the arrival of the balance of the “judges”. Upon complete assembly of our party, we proceed 20 miles east to Issaquah, Washington to see MG’s townhome and to prepare ourselves for an evening of acquaintances.

Diner was at Jak's Grill in old town Issaquah, Washington. Their specialty is steak and they claim to serve “only corn fed, Nebraska raised beef. The finest beef available anywhere!” This statement would prove accurate. Hmmm…Nebraska beef. This guy is good. MG 2 - High Bar 0.

The next day began with a tour of J’s apartment near Lynnwood. Then we set off for a brief view of J's office in Everett and then on to a glorious day filled with sightseeing.

Denise’s parents had never been to Seattle and we were all interested in assuring their utmost satisfaction with the city’s tourism. We saw downtown Seattle, Elliott Bay, Pike Place Market, Lake Washington, and ate lunch at Ivar's on the waterfront. We mounted the Space Needle and drove to the historic Mukilteo Light Station in the Puget Sound coastal town of Mukilteo, Washington.

I find lighthouses to be fascinating. Information gathered from the Mukilteo Historic Society states that Mukilteo is a translation of the Indian word Muckl-Te-Oh which means long goose neck, possibly referring to the land where the lighthouse stands today. The lighthouse was built by German Architect Carl Leick in 1906. It was constructed of fir wood at a cost of $27,000. The 38 foot tower has a lantern room fully enclosed by glass and was originally vented to accommodate the smoke and fumes from the open lantern flame. Its Fresnel sextagon shaped lens rotated by means of a clockwork weight and pulley system. It required winding every three hours. The flash was at five second intervals. The small sectional prismatic lenses through which the light passed increased its strength to about 7,000 candle power. An oil lamp on the Fourth Order lens required refilling every three hours and used approximately 243 gallons of coal oil per year. A Cunningham eight foot diaphragm foghorn was operated by two air compressors. The foghorn was shaped like a giant trumpet and protruded out the back wall of the lighthouse. It sounded a four second blast every 16 seconds. There was a windmill powered water tower with oil and coal storage rooms beneath. It also served as living quarters for two keepers.

Easter Sunday began in church. It was a spunky little foot-tapping contemporary service that surprised us but served us will on this special day. Easter Brunch was amazing. J & MG had reservations at the Salish Lodge which sits literally just above the roar of Snoqualmie Falls. [If you visit the web link, click on the "video" button.] This 270 foot waterfall is spectacular. Less than 30 miles east of Seattle, it is little wonder that that falls have become the second most visited tourist destination in Washington State.

After a wonderfully choreographed Easter weekend, it is easy to see the chemistry between J and MG. And suddenly my carefully placed "high bar" seems reachable…perhaps I should slip it up a bit.