Slainte!

Corinne Lopez is a tricky one. She is the director of faith formation at my beloved St. Thomas More Newman Center, as well as being the leader for the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults group. She has tried my cooking a few times to her enjoyment, but my cooking is nothing compared to Laura Thompson Parras, the reigning culinary queen at the Newman Center. No bitterness, I promise.

One Wednesday in February during an RCIA meeting Corinne was giving announcements about what to expect for Lent. I was busy working on a difficult stitch in yet another scarf, so I wasn't paying full attention. I did hear "St. Patrick" and "Irish", but it was shockingly not enough to make me look away from my scarf. That was when I noticed the silence. I looked up and saw both Corinne and Laura staring intently at me with a look that was far too innocent to be innocent.

I think they want me to cook for St. Patrick's Day.

This required some serious coordination. I cooked several dozen of my Guinness chocolate cupcakes the night before (they were finally perfect), woke a priest up early to let me plug in the Crock Pot before work, and fretted during Mass about the timing of the corned beef glaze and boiling cabbage. I had not made any potatoes, and was starting to feel the wrath of my ancestors boiling within my blood.

Everything turned out perfectly. Good friends and RCIA members brought salad, scalloped potatoes, beverages, and the like. Tables were set out for the dozens who attended. The smallish corned beef was somehow able to feed everyone, and the cabbage turned out buttery and delicious.

I would like this to be on record: when I die, this is how I hope heaven will be. I am possessed with a palpable joy when I see people I love gathered in one place, sharing food, talking, laughing, and simply enjoying what the moment has brought us. I was surrounded by RCIA members, priests, my cousin Annie and her boyfriend Lincoln, Ben, my Irish friend Jack, and anyone else who followed their nose to the church. The holiest of holidays continued at our tiny apartment with some beer and Annie, Lincoln, my friend Ari, her girlfriend Allyse, and Fr. Augustine Hilander. I had never invited people over to the wee apartment before, but we all fit in fine. What's more, we were all happy to be there with each other. This sort of joy is all the proof of God that I need.
That, and the expression on Fr. Augustine's face.