The walk led us around Lake Sag and to the cemetery. Hank said he often went there as a student to study because it was quiet and without the boisterous traffic found almost everywhere else in a four year men's college. As the group continued on to the pottery workshop, I lingered behind with my camera to take a few pictures. And to feel the absence of Mary again. She loved Lake Sag. I can dimly recollect Mary writing to me when we were in college about the beauty of the lake. As I recall, Mary took several classes at St John's University because of her major in biology and her minor in chemistry before her senior year at the Farm. SJU offered classes she needed that the College of St. Benedict did not have or there were schedule conflicts.
Frankly, I always responded emotionally in those days when she wrote of the lake for the simple reason that she made it sound so beautiful and romantic. She would always express a wish that we could be there together. Then, the journey made it seem like it was a million miles away. Today, the distance is infinite but I could sense her presence.
I walked among the graves and let the feelings of her loss wash over me. I don't know how long I stayed alone but I was the only one there. It wasn't where Mary is buried, but it was a place she knew and spent time, I am sure. And it was a place I could let my tears flow.
I caught up to the group as they were leaving the pottery works. I wasn't gone all that long, the works were closed. We headed to the St John's bookstore and I looked for a hat. I had forgotten to bring one. Let see, I forgot walking shorts, Mary's polka dot blouses for the quilt, the Remembrance DVDs (I had not admitted that before) and a hat for use when shooting with my camera. I was well prepared for this trip, eh? Anyway, the only hats they had were plastered with St. John's this and St. John's that. I attended St. Thomas in the Twin Cities for pre-engineering and again a decade later to earn my MBA. St Johns and St Thomas suffer the benefit of a huge, long standing and virulent rivalry in almost all aspects of college life. No way was I going to put a St Johns logo on this head. I solved the hat problem two days later when I stopped at the St. Bens bookstore and bought a bright red cap with the St. Bens logo. I can wear it when driving Mary's bright red convertible!
We then headed to the Great Hall to visit with Father Patrick. He was in very good spirits and we had a wonderful time. He was very glad to hear that not only had I brought wine for the group, I had also purchased the particular gin and vermouth he loved for his martini--apparently, it was too expensive for him to acquire on his own and he had a rather pointed commentary on the price.
After lunch in the guest house, we all ended up with differing chores. Kathy and the quilt crew began serious quilt stuff in the McKeown Center. Joyce and a team headed for town for shopping for the meals. David and I worked on the video system which consisted of a large HD TV with no DVD player whatsoever. David's computer could play the Remembrance disks but we didn't have a cable to connect them. As for the forgotten polka dot blouses I was contributing to the quilt and the Remembrance DVDs, I had asked MaryR to ship them for me--hold at Kinko's-FedEx. Mick and I headed into town to pick up the shipment, buy a cable and visit a crafts shop in an attempt to finalize his quilt square.
Everyone assembled at the meditation room in the Guest house at 4PM because Father Patrick was saying a mass just for our group in remembrance of Mary. The chairs were set up in rows when Patrick entered the room and he immediately asked we arrange in a circle instead. Everyone pitched in and started moving chairs. As the chairs were settling in, I took a seat next to Tom Maus. As the last Farmer came in and sat down, I came to realize the chair next to me was empty and I was scratching my brain as to who was missing. Then, in that instant it hit me, the missing person was Mary. It was a few seconds later when Tom Maus asked me if I wanted to do a reading. I barely croaked out to him that I was already choking up and would not be able to do a reading. The symbolism of the empty chair was so strong, I thought I would totally lose it even before we started the ceremony.
At some point during the service, Becky moved next to me to provide a comforting touch (thank you, thank you, thank you for the support) but there was still an empty chair. The meaning and emotions my mind associated with the empty chair was very nearly overpowering and that was only one aspect of the entire celebration of the mass. At the part of the mass where we greet our co-celebrants, everyone got up and exchanged a bazillion hugs. I received so much warmth and feeling, for they all knew Mary and miss her very much too. I was so very, very glad Patrick offered the mass celebration for her.
Steve later admitted that he had made sure there was an extra chair for Mary. How very thoughtful and incredibly meaningful. Thank you, Steve.
We then assembled at the McKeown Center, a marvelous facility to host a group like ours. The kitchen was abuzz with the food team and the quilt team had their materials laid out on the tables as they worked their magic. At some point, we assembled to watch the two DVDs and I provided a running commentary until the last couple of pictures when I lost my voice and my not-so-silent crying overtook me.
As the evening progressed, I spent time talking to Father Patrick known in this group as Patrick or Patrick the Elder. I am Pat or Pat the Younger to simplify things. Anyway, Patrick and I talked at length about a myriad of things ranging from the year at the Farm to today. He is marvelously sharp, exudes warmth and its is very easy to see how he has always been one of Mary's favorite people.
I must admit I enjoyed a bit too much of Patrick's martinis and I washed those down with a reasonable portion of the very drinkable wines I had brought. It was my first 'bender' since--well, since a long, long time--perhaps that trip to Denver with my buddies in the spring of 1968 when I was grieving over the loss of Mary the first time. Later, when I felt it was time to head for my room, I pulled my car keys out of my pocket, held them out as if to offer them to someone, and asked if anyone would drive me back. As I recall, I vaguely remember a collective sigh of relief emanating from the group when Becky took them and said, "I'll drive you." Sandy agreed to ride along. Was I really blotto? Well, it turns out the last Farmers to head to the guest house had to collect my iPhone and iPad because I had forgotten them. To me, leaving my precious iToys was confirmation I was far gone.
Observing how this group functions is a real treat. Somehow, the group moves to accomplish its intended actions but I am not sure, even after this fifth visit with them, how it happens. It just does.
This last picture is of the belfry at the church for those who didn't click on the previous link.
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