Hearts of Gold

My Parent's 50th, 4 years ago

54 years ago my parents were married.   I am one of 7 children and feel incredibly fortunate to still be part of their lives.  Three weeks ago I spent a long weekend with them at their condo on a golf course in North Carolina.  As we usually do, we reminissed about the past, talking about friends, family, teachers, coaches, and neighbors; people that made us laugh, inspired and challenged us. And of course we thought fondly of the ones we miss who have passed away or have moved out of our lives.  I like to think I share my father's love of story telling and writing,  but my mother's humility, so today I'd like to share an email my dad sent today, looking back 54 years to the day he married my mom.  

Hello to all,

Yes, today represents a specific anniversary and as such Mimi and I had lunch at Chick-fil-A.  We thought it was fitting in that the meal served 54 years ago at The Commander Hotel opposite the Cambridge Common was also a chicken dish.  Probably roasted with veggies.  Today's was grilled, served in a bun with fries (don't tell my diabetes group of docs).  We reminisced about the attendees, some of which drove a good distance from places such as New London, Conn. and Lewiston, Me.  We danced to' La Mer' and were entertained by a great family friend of my mother's, one Kate Cadigan.  She could play the piano and sing with grand style and effect.  My brother, Herb, gave the requisite toast to which my old mentor from The Heights newspaper at B.C. the Reverend Arthur A. MacGillivray, S.J. whispered to me, "Pure Hallmark".

Chasing Rainbows

Last night, the warm spring light of the evening mixed with milky clouds towards the horizon in the southwest as I drove from one end of Maine to other.  Pale pinks and yellow grays combined in swirls and the late April sky resembled the surface of Jupiter.  Twelve hours earlier I was racing East from Bangor to Machias along Route 9, known to locals as the Airline, which connects the Queen City to the Canadian boarder and Calais.  Maine Driver’s

Rt. 9 Washington County Maine

Licenses, used to have the phrase, “Where America’s Day Begins” printed along the top edge with the image of a sunrise and a lobster boat.  Now, my license has a Moose standing above a heart indicating I’m an organ honor and the image of Mt Katandin along the top. 

My day began an hour earlier at the Vacationland Motel, in a room where the lock didn’t seem to work all that well.  The night before I told myself that nothing bad would happen, but took precautions anyways, stuffing a towel at the base of the door and wedging the desk chair under the loose handle, hoping these meager steps would allow me a few hours sleep.  Earlier in the day I was presenting at a conference at the University of New Hampshire.  It was the first time this year that I felt the warmth of spring, and my armpits became wet with nervous sweat as I thought about my talk.   I noticed it was 73 degrees on the bank sign as I turned onto a different section of route 9 in Wells, 160 miles away.   Not surprising, I saw a shirtless man raking leaves in his front yard. His dark hair covered his round torso like a black bear and contrasted greatly to his bleached white skin that had been hibernating for the six months of winter that had just ended.