Ride along the lake

One of the reasons I love getting on my bike is that it can take me places I might not have otherwise been. Today I rode north to Cherry Creek State Park and around the reservoir; I hadn't realized it was that close. The winding bike path and road around the park took me through varied foliage and views of the water, with sparkling reflections and just a few speed boats out for the morning. As I came around within view of the Dam Road, the road ended in a loop at the water's edge, with parking for camping and fishing. I took a dirt path shortcut through the fence and ended up riding just along the northwest bank of the lake for about a mile, right along the shore, until the trail picked up again at the Cherry Creek Yacht Club. Being a land-locked state, I rarely get the chance to be near water that's not a tiny mountain stream. That mile was the most peaceful, scenic part of my ride, somewhere I never would have walked to or driven to, and only came across by chance (Providence?). The smell of gulls and fish and algae permeated the crisp air, and ducks, pelicans, and cormorants (I had to look that one up) filled the water. As I neared the Yacht Club, a large pelican several yards out from shore eyed me as I came into his field of view. He kept his head turned to the side to keep me right in his line of sight, and as I peddled past, I could see his webbed feet working to keep him rotating counterclockwise while his head kept perfectly still. It seemed he was weighing how dangerous he thought I was and what his next step should be, and then I passed through his territory and rode on. Then within 10 minutes I was riding past Cherry Creek High School and the spell was broken. But I'm already looking forward to going back, and grateful for the brief retreat into nature this morning.

Apparently, this is a double-crested cormorant. Who knew?

The early church

Our family had the opportunity to take our pastor from the last 14 years out to dinner this week, as a token of gratitude for all of his work. First of all, if given the chance, always get to know clergy. They have such interesting stories and perspective, and you never know what may come of it. Second of all, and more importantly, we got to talking about the incredible St. Thomas More community that has evolved over the last several years.

It is a huge parish, somewhere between 5,000-6,000 families with 7 weekend Masses, packed daily Mass, a thriving school, probably the most established youth ministry program in the archdiocese, and financially thriving. So in that sense, it can be somewhat intimidating. But once you get your foot in the door, get involved, and meet people, it can transform your life. Nearly everyone I now know in Denver, or who has been a part of my life in the last 30 years, is directly or indirectly related to STM. My parents' euchre club has 12 couples that are all STMers. All the parties and events we go to are full of familiar faces.

It doesn't have a cliquish feel; it feels like home. As Fr. Andrew said, it feels like the early church. A community where people support each other, encourage each other, worship together, share their resources, and thrive. Last night we were at a graduation party for two good friends who finished four years at the Catholic Biblical School here in town. For almost 5 hours, I watched as some of my favorite people in the world walked through the doors, little kids or parents in tow, bearing delicious goodies and congratulations.

With the young families there, we had 12 little kids running around and 3 more on the way. All the kids knew each other, as well as most of the adults, like a big extended family. Everyone took turns passing babies around, feeding the toddlers, changing diapers, hunting down sippy cups, and keeping the peace. No one really worried where the kids were, because the parents all knew that someone was watching them. At one point, my friend was holding her 6 month old and her 2 year old came up crying, reaching for her. In a seamless exchange, almost without words, another friend reached for the happy-go-lucky baby who couldn't care less who holds him (a great trait in the youngest of 4) while the 2 year old then was picked up by her mom. Crisis averted.

Then after some of the kids had gone to bed, we sat around chatting and picking at the dessert trays, enjoying each others' company. It was a much-needed antidote to the selfish, individualistic culture that is so pervasive today. A community that gives of itself, grows to become more than the sum of its parts, and so visibly embraces and gives life. I'm so, so grateful for this church family and everything that it has brought into my life, and the lives of so many others.

Which one are you?

On Saturday, I was introduced to someone that had known Michelle for a while. He asked a rather innocent question while making small talk--"Besides the glasses, what are the other differences between you?" I honestly had a hard time coming up with answers, despite 30 years (gross!) of lamenting the lack of a singular identity. The first things that come to mind are physical, as I think that's how we tend to describe others:

• I'm 3/4 of an inch taller
• Michelle's hair is usually lighter than mine
• The cat eyes
• I'm left-handed

Then I really had to think. We joke that the other one is more competitive (but really she is). Other than that:

• Michelle's brain holds an obscene amount of useless trivia, beer names, movie actors, and song lyrics
• She is a better (or perhaps just more intentional) cook than I am
• I have more discerning literary tastes
• She's the bigger shopper
• I need more sleep
• She drinks WAY more coffee
• She always has KYGO on and I more often than not enjoy quiet in the car
• I'm better with kids (but it's a hazard of the job)
• She is more disciplined with keeping resolutions (you wouldn't find me running a half-marathon)
• And...I'm done

It's funny that I have to think this hard about it. We have way more in common, obviously, but I also feel like when you're a twin, comparison invites competition, and I'm just not that interested in it anymore. No one would ask two unrelated friends to name the better singer, or the faster runner, or the smarter--you just know that they are separate people without having to pit them against one another. In fact, it's not really that different with us; when people ask how to tell us apart, I think, "Well, I'm me, and she's not." That's a pretty big difference.

"Irish Catholic a plus"

We were blessed to have Fr. John Paul with us to say Mass everyday (except the last), which was a great way to keep the pilgrimage spirit. Very simple Masses, intimate. Except in Knock where several other pilgrims joined us in the Apparition Chapel, trickling in throughout so that by communion, the chapel was almost full. Seeing the various churches was a highlight, stone structures built mostly within the last 150 years, with stunning stained glass, always a Sacred Heart statue and a statue of Lourdes, and walls of prayer candles burning with intentions. Statues of Our Lady also graced schoolyards, town squares, highway stops, and private gardens. It was wonderful to be able to so freely celebrate our faith, because it has not always been so.

The Irish people have persevered through persecution of various sorts all the way back to the Vikings, though the religious bent seems to have had the most impact. In the worst period, following the split of the Church of England, Oliver Cromwell and his men swept over the island, setting fire to every church, rendering them useless. Countless stone frames, open to the sky, dot the countryside, although one such church continued Mass for hundreds of years until its repair, with umbrellas and raincoats protecting the congregation. Catholicism was outlawed from the 1500s until almost 1800, and the Catholics (Irish) didn't achieve political equality despite their numeric majority until much later.

During the heights of the persecution, Catholics gathered in the forests, celebrating Mass around "altar rocks" and baptisms in "holy wells" (natural springs), the priest risking death if discovered. We had the opportunity to visit the Tobernalt Holy Well, one of the sites of the secret Masses. There was still the spring and the altar rock, but around it had sprung up a beautiful shrine, complete with Stations of the Cross, a large crucifix, statue of Our Lady of Lourdes, and monuments for the mysteries of the rosary. It was a beautiful time of prayer and reflection, appreciating the devotion of our ancestors in keeping the faith alive to pass on. The people of Ireland were in our prayers for the entire pilgrimage.

The remains of a church in Glendalough

Praying at the Tobernalt Well

St. Mary's Cathedral in Killarney

Basilica at Knock, celebrating the canonization of two great saints (these banners were in every church)

Full breakfast...and lunch, and dinner

On our first day in Ireland, our guide Eunan said that the one thing you won't do in Ireland is starve. Which was true more or less. We were given hot breakfast buffets at all of our hotels, quite varied and impressive: fruit and yogurt, cereals and pastries, brown bread, eggs, bacon (thick, chewy side of pork, hearty and salty), pancakes (crepes), ham and sausage, toomatoes, baked beans, cheese, coffee and tea, baskets of white toast, and the infamous black and white pudding. I decided on the first morning that I would give the black pudding a go, always having wondered at it on menus. I placed it on a separate plate, not to contaminate the rest of the amazing meal. I cut the ever-so-tiniest bite, tried not to smell it as I placed it in my mouth. It was the thought of blood more than the taste that had me gagging through the entire thing, chugging water and coffee afterwards to wash it down. I'm told the white pudding isn't as bad (just the pork, oatmeal, and drippings without the blood), kind of like sausage, but I had enough.

Lunch was on our own while on the road, stopping in little villages for pub fare mostly. Eunan did his best to hit up notables like Durty Nelly's, The Red Fox, and so on--standard fare being soup and brown bread, fresh seafood chowder, fish and chips, sandwiches (there is always a "Toasted Special" which is a panini with ham or turkey, cheese, tomato, and onion, grilled or panini pressed), and often hamburgers, though the ketchup tastes more like tomato soup even though the bottle is the same.

Dinner was mostly 3 course meals at the hotels, with a fixed menu, although for what it probably cost us, most of the time we probably would have rather gone into town to grab food on our own. I was pleased that steamed veggies were a mainstay, big bowls to be shared at the table, and plenty of fresh fish. Our hotel in Dublin at Croke Park had an impressive menu, fried goat cheese, Bailey's cheesecake, pesto gnocchi--yum!

It was of course standard to have a beer with dinner or just before. Luckily they offer glasses as well as the pints (a glass is about a 10-oz serving for half the price) or I would have gained 10 pounds. Every bar and hotel had Guinness, Bulmer's (cider), Smithwick's, and Coors Light (true story!). We tried all the stouts (my favorite was Beamish), several Irish whiskeys (Jameson is still the best), and pretty much every other beer they had to offer. Not quite the craft beer scene of Denver, but they've come a long way from the monopoly of "the black stuff".

We also were initiated into the traditional candy shop scene. Apparently American candy (ie: Twizzlers) is "disgusting" and we were literally gasped at when we admitted we hadn't tried cinder toffee. She promptly popped open the jar and gave us each a taste (amazing!). We also ate our fill of Cadbury chocolate, fudge, and bon-bons (like hard taffy balls in all different flavors). And most of the towns had at least one authentic gelato stop with flavors like Nutella, tiramasu, honeycomb, and nutty rum chocolate.

Yup, definitely didn't starve. In fact, amazed my clothes still fit.

The Auld Sweet Shop

Craft brews in Dublin

Fish and chips

Fried goat cheese amazingness

The Emerald Isle

[First of probably many posts about Ireland, depending on how burned out I get. I decided to go by topic rather than simply a day-by-day retelling of our itinerary. See also the facebook album. Many of these reflections were at least partially written while there, but I'll add in as necessary.]

For an island the size of Maine, Ireland packs in a lot of foliage and rock formations, and a surprisingly large amount of the land seems untouched (though I'm sure we intentionally kept to the scenic route). It truly is the Emerald Isle, and rightly named. The 280-some days of rain a year makes even the rocks green with moss. The hillsides are disected by hand built stone walls, blocking off small pens, grazing fields, and land borders. Gathered from the fields by the first farmers, the rock was left scattered after the Ice-Age glacier crept over the landscape, wreaking havoc on the hillside and depositing building material as it went. Now the walls are essentially a national landmark and must be repaired if damaged.

The fields are also dotted with sheep and newborn lambs, their famous wool marred with paint splotches to claim them lest they wander from their owner's land. Spotted cows, known for the high-quality milk they produce from grazing on the nutrient rich grass, are also scattered among the hills.

Green, too, are the forests of trees--once covering most of the island--the mosses, the hedges, the famed Cliffs of Moher, and the 600 million-year-old Connemara marble mined from the hills. There are no mountains as such, the tallest peak coming in at some 3,000 feet, but the colors of granite and the crystal lakes reflecting the light more than make up for it, as well as the panoramic views of the Atlantic and the many bays.

The Atlantic from the Ring of Kerry

I think of all of it, my favorite was the Kylemore Abbey and gardens, a Victorian-style castle set on the shores of a lake surrounded by hills. Vegetation carpets the valley, and the largest walled gardens on the island house acres of herbs, vegetables, and flowers (8,000 bulbs and 18,000 seeds planted every year), surrounded by majestic oak forests. All overlooked by a large Sacred Heart statue halfway up the hill, erected in thanksgiving by the Benedictine nuns.

The view from Kylemore Abbey

Even in the cities and towns, color abounds. For several hundred years of English occupation, the Irish were forbidden from owning their homes, so now, with those restrictions lifted, they proudly mark them with bright paint. Every section of building is claimed with blues, reds, yellows, and pinks,
making the streets look like a Venetian village. It's also said that in Ireland, the men paint their doors distinct colors so they can find their homes as they drunkenly wander home from the pubs each night.

All in all, God's hand in creation was evident every step of our trip, in both vastness and minute details, making for a very scenic pilgrimage indeed.