November 20, 2012
Happy Birthday, Megan Linz Dickinson!
It’s mid-way through Day 2 of back-to-back Desert Days- a
most generous and observant gift from our director, Ceil, who said, “I don’t
know about you, but I’m tired! So I thought we would spend two days in solitude
this week, and I didn’t think you’d mind.” I don’t mind in the least. It was a
busy weekend.
To recap:
Friday Film &
Feast
I made 3 quiches (quiche?), which were total experiments.
That is, I’ve never made quiche and the final products were an amalgamation of
various recipes adapted to our ingredients and my patience. To my surprise,
each one came out well and was enjoyed by all.
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| Asparagus & Mozzarella |
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| Zucchini, Onion, & Mozzarella |
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| Broccoli & Cheddar |
We watched “Lars and the Real Girl” with Ryan Gosling and Emily Mortimer.
I don’t know what I was up to in late 2007 when this film came out, but it missed my radar. The brief, online description is: “A delusional young guy strikes up an unconventional relationship with a doll he finds on the internet.” But that description doesn’t begin to do justice to the film. I’ll have much more to say about it in my weekly reflection.
Saturday Supper
Eric, the Carmelite priest here, spent this past summer in
Michigan while his father was dying of cancer. Friends of the community –
Crestone neighbors and Sunday mass visitors- stepped up in a big way to help
keep the monastery running in the absence of 1/3 of its staff. Eric’s father
expressed sincere gratitude to Eric for their friends’ assistance here in
Colorado and ultimately left Eric money to host a meal of thanksgiving for
Nada’s community of support, which we celebrated Saturday night. The main dinner
was catered by a local couple who will soon be opening a farm-to-table
restaurant in town. The Carmelites and the retreatants spent the morning
preparing the appetizers and desserts.
Yours truly devoted an obscene amount of time to compulsively
arranging 3 meat/cheese/cracker platters that were devoured in minutes, along
with the other apps. During my intensive prep, the only male retreatant,
Michael, commented: “You know, people are just going to grab a cracker; they
won’t notice how the tray looks.” Oh Michael. The arrangement isn’t for their acknowledgement;
it’s for my own perfectionistic satisfaction! After 3 hours, it was perfect and
I was satisfied. The rest of the food was amazing; and we have days of
leftovers stored in the fridge. No canned veggies for me this week!
Wanting to avoid the crowd in order to actually eat (certain
older people love talking to certain younger people,) I retreated to the
kitchen table and sat between two gentlemen already in conversation. One, a
very loud Italian in his 70s (who was really talking AT the other), lived much
of his life in NoVA/DC/MD, except for his college days in Providence. We had
plenty to talk about. The other, a
Jesuit priest making his own retreat here at Nada, was ordained along with my
two former bosses at the Cathedral in Baltimore, a ½ mile from Loyola. We had
plenty to talk about.
In all, it was a lovely celebration of life, and I went to
bed very full.
Sunday Stations
Whenever Ceil returns to Crestone from their retreat house
in Ireland she visits the outdoor Stations of the Cross in San Luis, the oldest
town in Colorado. San Luis is about 90 minutes from Crestone, but it feels
very, very close to Mexico. I’d imagine that the life-sized bronze sculptures,
completed around 1990, are the primary tourist attraction for miles. (Although,
we did pass the birthplace & museum of heavyweight champ, Jack Dempsey, in
the town of Manassa.) I forgot my camera, but here’s a look at each station,
thanks to Bob and Laura Madigan and their “RV travels across America.” I don’t
know the Madigan’s, but I’m sure they won’t mind my sharing their helpful site:
Here's my favorite, the 15th Station:
We ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant (New Mexico style) in
Alamosa on the way back. I think my stomach has returned to its 10 year old
distaste for Mexican food, or at least for what’s served this side of the
border. When one item blends into the next until the entire plate morphs into a
monochromatic blob that ceases to be identifiable food, my stomach closes the
door and bolts the lock. However, there’s a secret passageway for sopapillas!
