Getting, Gathering, Guarding and Grooming.

“The world is too much with us; late and soon
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers"

This wonderful quote of William Wordsworth was sent by a blogger friend the other day in response to my post on Crackberries.

It got me thinking.

Then again most things these days get me to thinking.

As in: most of our lives revolve around stuff. The getting and gathering of it, the guarding of it from predators, the grooming (i.e. maintaining and cleaning) of it.

I’ve been as guilty of this as anyone. Maybe it is the elder years that throws a clear sharp floodlight on to our own behaviours. It is only now I see that all of it is so empty and frivolous and meaningless. One only has to go to a mall and sit on a bench and be absolutely and completely astonished at what people are doing there. What is everyone buying? Really. And is there ever enough of it?

Lately I think that what brings me the most pleasure is the interior life that is only satisfied with stuff that can’t be bought.

The sunsets that I resolved to see daily since the beginning of the year.
The daily walk on the shore or around my daughter’s locale with one of our dogs.
The perusal of driftwood or a lovely stone or a shell.
The satisfying woodpile beside my stove.
The glowing faces of dear friends and family across the dinner table (and I’ve had a surfeit of that in the last two weeks and still want more!).
The smell of cooking and baking on the wood stove.
The recounting of the daily doings of friends and family,
The knitting of a few rounds of a sock,
The CD painstakingly copied by a friend because he knew I would enjoy it.
The revisiting of pictures of the work of the architect Gaudi with dear friends,
The multi-generational chat with my daughter and the grandgirl of a book all three of us had read,
The news of an upcoming wedding of a nephew in Ireland,
Being privy to the lives of a whole batch of young nieces and nephews who’ve befriended me on Facebook,
The plans for a dinner dance in my village this Friday.
And getting out of Dodge while fam and friends are still telling me my stay was far, far too short.

I return to The Rock tomorrow. To my beloved Newfoundland.

{Photo above is of the Toronto Eaton Centre}

Separation of Church & State Much?

Moral high ground=Roman Catholic Church and it's now putting all its considerable bullying power into ensuring the citizens of the US are not all treated equally.

Well, Catholic laymen are treated equally as long as they’re heterosexual of course. The males of the cloth can be of either persuasion. Mainly homosexual as it appears that a higher than average percentage of them died from AIDS in the eighties. 4 times higher than the general population as a matter of fact. But lay Catholic homosexuals or LGBTs are not entitled to marriage or child adoptions or child fostering.

And as to female Catholics? Don’t get me started on the second class citizens who can’t participate fully in its machinations with not even rights to their own bodies. Whatsoever. Particularly when it comes to breeding. No matter how brutal and reprehensible the inpregnation or the age of the female. And the piece de resistance was the church’s threat of excommunication for all involved in supporting an abortion following the rape of a nine year old girl by her stepfather. It seems their hypocritical advocacy for the rights of children ceases when the child exits the birth canal.

And I haven’t even touched on the consistent and pernicious paedophilia which has been rampant in their ranks for centuries and is only now seeing the light of day.

By its very nature the church attracts the sexually dysfunctional and deviant. Who call the shots. Who hold sway over the legislation of the US government.

And no one is calling them out on it.

No, instead they wield enough influence to affect health care coverage for those deemed not quite human or equal. The poorest, most marginalized and most needy.

Whatever happened to “the meek shall inherit the earth’?

Whatever happened to the separation of church and state?

And hark! that faint, oh so faint whisper of "liberty and justice for all"?

PS I have previously posted on the Catholic Church here in these posts.

Crackberries & Other Distractions

I don't know about you, but I have enormous difficulties with people not being in the "Now". As in when I'm with them, they're constantly texting or on their Blackberries or checking the time or staring lasciviously at the server in a restaurant or drumming their fingers on the table or jangling their keys or taking non-stop pictures or movies.

I don't understand it. Why are they filling in time with an activity when they'd rather be somewhere else or doing something different?

Like the other night I was at a dinner party and this friend was there and her device (leash) was tinkling constantly and she'd sheepishly say:

"Just another couple and I'll turn it off" but she never did and even at the dinner table she had it on her lap and was texting away. We're not talking a teenager here. We're talking a woman of 67 years old. She wasn't present at all. Plus she's stealing time from the friends who've turned off their devices to be in the moment with dear friends with the sound of her device constantly blasting and breaking the moments.

Or call waiting? Drives me mad. I never use it but my friends do even though they know how I feel about it. Like I'm going to take another call that's more important than yours while you're on the line with me?

Maybe I'm coming across all self righteous and geezerish about this stuff, but my life is just as busy or even more so than yours but when I'm with you, I'm really, really with you. Is it too much to ask that you're really with me?

Report of a Day in the City

Yeah, I'm there. I'm in the groove again (do they even use that term anymore?). She's back. City Woman.

I had breakfast with the grandgirl. Rare. Very rare. She is a going concern. for her to cook us waffles before school and sit down across from each other and eat, in the morning, well, amazing. She is fifteen after all.

Then it was on to meet my blog buddy Annie for lunch. Neither of us had ever done such a thing before. Meet, in the flesh, another blogger. A first. It was wonderful. Well over two hours chowing down on some great Thai food and nattering of families and travels and the east coast and the west coast and Canada and politics and grandchildren, well, you get the picture.

Then I decided to walk downtown from where we were, along Bloor Street and down Yonge St - the longest street in the world. 1896KM. Ha! - no, I didn't walk it all but did cover what my father could have called a goodly hike.

Memories get stoked. Of working in this area back in the sixties and seventies in office atmospheres similar to those described in Mad Men. Seriously. It amazes me that Mad Men captures that era so well. I lived it. In the office buildings on Bloor Street.

And then, and this makes the city soooooo worthwhile, it really does, a friend treated me to August:Osage Countyat the Canon Theatre. 3-1/2 hours in the theatre that fly like 10 minutes. Theatre so good you never want it to be over. Estelle Parsons at 81 giving the performance of a lifetime with a supporting cast that never puts a foot wrong.

I was spellbound. Entranced. I love the city.

Reflection

Outport Woman in the City

Sirens blow, traffic weaves
Swift, careless, callous
Around and about and
Over and under my paralysis.

Leaving me breathless,
Sound breaking into bits
Inside me, me relearning
By brute force, city life.

I see the smudged colours of
Pollution laced sunsets,
Smoky orange, smeared crimson
Behind uncertain tall buildings.

And squeeze far too tightly
Memories of the lilting swirl
Of lavender and rose and lemon
On the willing waters of the bay

Photo courtesy of the grandgirl.

Synchronicity

{Photo taken by my daughter of our two dogs, happily exhausted, who are mutts and not related}

I've always loved the word. I've had so much of it in my life. Do our thoughts attract like? Can we manifest connections to each other? I do believe the power of our minds is extraordinary. And we only tap into maybe 10%.

Like today. I was thinking of a fellow blogger whose life-style is greatly similar to mine. We are currently in Toronto and have never met and I was thinking: gee, I should email her, we should get together. And I open my email this morning and there she is, saying let's do lunch.

I'm currently doing research on WW1 for a book and I pick up "The Atlantic Monthly" in the airport yesterday and inside is an article on WW1 and its far reaching effects even into today and when I get to Toronto I find my granddaughter's current project for school is on, you guessed it, WW1.

Blog Jam

View from my room.

I’m in the Heaven of HighSpeed. Safely ensconced here for the night, off at the crack tomorrow to fly to Toronto and Da Fam & Fwends. I’ll be there for a couple of weeks safe in the bazooms of loved ones.

I had the Doldrums of Dial-up Dementia (I’m looking at YOU, Government of Newfoundland & Labrador and I’m not going away until you fix this outrage) for the past 5 months and at times I nearly went mad. In the middle of research, d-i-s-c-o-n-n-e-c-t without warning, uploads taking 30 minutes when normally it would be minute. Downloads the same. Very, very difficult to run a business. I think it takes twenty times longer and my head feels like it's exploding. Not to mention writing a blog, loading up pics or watching YouTube. Facebook is painful and I tend to avoid it as everyone’s albums are so tempting but what takes you 5 minutes will take me 100.

Rant over.

BTW: If you’re ever going to book a hotel, don’t go directly to the hotel site or call. Book through Expedia on the net. About half the price. Seriously.

We had the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall here for about 4 days. One of our outports will soon be celebrating 400 years of British Settlement. Quite a ho-hum reception, apart from the pols tripping over each other. In some areas the security outnumbered the actual audience. H1N1 virus fear was part of it, but in general most feel the monarchy is irrelevant. I’ve always liked Prince Charles, didn’t much care for Diana, I feel he has come into his own since the shadows have been lifted from Camilla. Here he talked green and environment and military and architecture - his passions - and enchanted the school children.

Which brings me to the secret service sitting at the table next to me at dinner tonight. I pretended to be reading while listening. A favourite hobby of mine. There were three: one woman, two men. The woman was from Newfoundland originally, the men were from B.C. and Quebec. They had met only through this detail and were going back to their rooms later to write up full reports (the royal couple left late yesterday). I loved the feeler bits of the conversation, the scratching around to find the common ground. After the first beer, they found it. Fishing. They all fished. But the woman’s stories were astonishing. Her father had employed her on his boat in the summers in her university years. Her biggest catch had been a 380lb tuna which still held the record in her fishing family. She told of landing a shark which she thought she’d killed but when she was taking a picture of her uncle with his hand on the head it turned and snapped at his arm which involved a tourniquet and him being lifted off the boat by helicopter after a mayday call. It took 80 stitches along with staples to fix his arm and hand.

Dining alone sure can have payoffs.

Mary Molloy Todd MacKay 1917-2009

I loved her. She was who I wanted to be when I grew up. Wise. Artistic. Kind. Opinionated. Well Read. And downright sexy.

She died tonight. It was time. Her mind was sharp. Her body not so much. She did it quietly. Turned her face to the wall. And left us. Richer.

I am so struck by how she looked as a child and how she looked the last time I saw her in May and had the foresight to take a picture. The same intelligent,direct gaze. The same gorgeous hair.



I am so glad I wrote the following for her on her birthday this year and sent it to her. She loved it. And showed it to her friends. I could tell her anything. And she would tell me stuff she couldn't tell her daughters.

Sleep with the angels, my dear friend. You were so loved.

A Tribute to Mary Molloy Todd MacKay on the occasion of her 92nd Birthday.


The facts were this:
Born 1917, Donegal, Ireland.
Emigrated Canada, 1921.
Married twice.
Children two.

Unwritten was this:
Handsome, intelligent.
An artist, a reader.
A seamstress, a raconteur.
Elegant conversationalist.
Lover of fine food and opera,
Opinions on life and love were
Well thought out, sympathetic.
And sometimes argumentative
But never cruel. Shy (but why?)
Humourous, mischievous.
And still counts her numbers in Irish.

And this may surprise you:
She harboured a dream.
Of wearing top hat, glitter vest
And black satin shorts.
While dancing in fishnet stockings
On shimmering high heels.

Yeah, I admit it. I'm a very cheap date.

I've always been a fan of little awards and hugs and attagirls. Yeah, you could call me a whore for fame, even of the tiniest kind. Festoon me with glittery baubles and bright shiny beads and I'll be yours for life.

But Green Stone Woman went a couple steps further today and gave me not one, not two, but three shiny objects which have me bedazzled.

Now I'm not going to spell out the people I'd adorn with them. You know who you are, you faithful throng. So help yourselves to one or all. Ah go on, you know you want to.










As for me? I'm off to hang them in my hall at the left. To hell with the decor.

Getting away from it all

I took the photo from my deck and I got to thinking about the new house in the middle of it and wondering if he ever took a picture from his front porch.

It’s odd isn’t it? The fact I am someone else’s view. My old saltbox house across the bay is a feature in the vista from his fancy double decker “cabin”.

They say he’s a townie lawyer, this fellow who spent the money and built his dream getting-away-from-it-all. Though he doesn’t escape much looks like. For now and again I point the old binocs his way and I've yet to see a car in the curlicue driveway.

Then again he might have gone completely fancy and built himself some underground parking. You just never know, so I’ve been told, with these fancy lawyers and their townie ways coming to the outports now and again to escape from it all. If they can spare the time.

Weird Food Combos

Does anyone else do this? I mean combine foods together that wouldn't 'normally' be married. The weirder the better.

Like: I love a fresh Montreal bagel, topped with peanut butter and hot salsa.
or: a mound of mushy green (dried, marrowfats) peas slopped between two slices of absolutely fresh out of the oven white bread.

As a child I would love french fries (chips) sandwiched on white bread.

My mother would mix chopped fresh lettuce and shallots with hot mashed potatoes.

One of my good friends loves chocolate covered raisins tossed on hot popcorn at the movies.

I make a scrumptious vegan soup with peanut butter and pumpkin and coconut.

Any other food weirdos out there?

Healthcare Math 101

Al Franken (Senator – Democrat – MN) is a breath of fresh air. He blows it all over the U.S. Senate Judiicary Committee yesterday.

It seems like medical bankruptcies in the USA are occurring in unprecedented numbers and Mr. Franken is asking some brutal questions in his concern for the unfortunate victims.

People like this woman going into bankruptcy because of her dead son’s medical bills, (he died of cystic fibrosis at 4-1/2) incurring 5 million dollars in debt, losing their home and couldn’t afford even the fee for bankruptcy:

Kerry Burns described to senators the 13-month illness of her son, Finnegan, who died in a Washington hospital last March at the age of 4½. Burns and her husband, Patrick, had taken leaves from their jobs in order to be at the boy’s side through several surgeries at three hospitals, living on disability and unemployment pay and falling so far behind on their bills that they could not recover financially.

“The emotional hardship my husband and I endured over the course of our son’s hospitalization pales in comparison to what we have felt since his loss,” Burns said, referring to their “financial ruin,” as she called it, and the humbling experience of filing for bankruptcy.

In particular, Burns singled out the bankruptcy system’s requirement that she and her husband take a computerized class in credit counseling. It was “sort of a slap in the face.” The Burnses said they felt insulted by the tone the class, which included questions “about why we were going bankrupt and how we could have avoided the situation in which we currently find ourselves.”

This seems totally alien to those of us living in countries which have universal health care: Like the other day, I receive in the mail from my provincial government an unexpected drug card. Yes, because I’m a senior, I’m entitled to free prescription drugs along with my free medical care. Just show my card at the pharmacy. Any pharmacy. I'm not under review by the death panel yet, obviously.

And for an etcetera: there’s a little sheet telling me to be sure to stock up on my free drugs if I plan to take an extended trip outside of Canada. This must seem like fables from another planet to those living in the USA,”Land of the Free for Nobody-at-all”.

Mr. Franken goes on to question Hudson Institute Senior Fellow Diana Furchtgott-Roth when she insists that those countries with universal health care also have citizens who declare medical bankrupticy:

FRANKEN: I think we disagree on whether health care reform, the health care reform that we’re talking about in Congress now should pass. You said that the way we’re going will increase bankruptcies. I want to ask you, how many medical bankruptcies because of medical crises were there last year in Switzerland?
FURCHTGOTT-ROTT: I don’t have that number in front of me, but I can find out and get back to you.
FRANKEN: I can tell you how many it was. It’s zero. Do you know how many medical bankruptcies there were last year in France?
FURCHTGOTT-ROTT: I don’t have that number, but I can get back to you if I like.
FRANKEN: Yeah, the number is zero. Do you know how many were in Germany?
FURCHTGOTT-ROTT: From the trend of your questions, I’m assuming the number is zero. But I don’t know the precise number and would have to get back to you.
FRANKEN: Well, you’re very good. Very fast. The point is, I think we need to go in that direction, not the opposite direction. Thank you.

The fact that all this is being debated, in the year 2009, is an absolute travesty and symptomatic of a corporatocracy gone wild.

And will it be fixed? There may be some minnows thrown to the great unwashed, but when a victim of wife-battering or rape is deemed to have a "pre-existing condition" and is denied basic health care, is there any real hope at all?

And U.S. "Medical Exiles" here in Canada are now becoming visible (and more outspoken).

Kathleen Kelly is an American who married a Canadian. They now live on Bowen Island in British Columbia with their six-year-old son. It sounds idyllic. The trouble is, she'd like to have the ability to go home -- to California. But she says she can't because of her son's health. And in her view, that makes her a medical exile.

Diana

Your friend gets the news thirteen months ago.

You think to yourself, hey, this is wrong, someone’s made a huge mistake: she’s a life long vegetarian, an emergency room nurse, a volunteer, a great woman to all who knew her, her sons are still too young and she's just within seconds of having an overdue retirement.

Where she can travel a bit to her family in Nova Scotia, maybe visit me for a week or three; the plans are rich, expansive. Kayaking, she loves kayaking. And hiking, boy, she really leaves us eating her dust when we’re out. She's lost her dog in the last wee while, was planning on getting another one. See? She'd far too much on the go. It wasn't time.

Always good at advice, one of those who’s very unobtrusive. But wise. She’d throw lovely little parties with unusual ice creams and organic cakes and candles everywhere. Even on her small deck. She was like that. She could be relied upon to bring something interesting to the Annual Ladies’ Brunch that I hold every year in Toronto. And she’d present you with flowers out of the blue. Because.

Her last emails were full of the harvest on her balcony. Clipping her lettuce. Watching her Japanese maple grow to 9”, gathering her tax papers to ship to me, doing her meditations.

Inoperable fucking brain cancer.

She died at 10.00 p.m. last night.

RIP dearest Diana.

*****UPDATE*****

A little poem I wrote which was read at her memorial service:

For Diana

Death is only for the living:
The bereft standing there
Embracing the sharp edges
And chilling silence
Of your vanished vitality.

Blog Jam

We had a bad storm on Tuesday night. Winds howling at over 120kmh in this little outport, even higher elsewhere. Buckets full of snow were blasted at the windows, clinging briefly to the panes and then falling in a puddle on the ground and disappearing. Phones blew out, dialup was a dim memory, dinner was cooked on the fire and gratitude was in the heart for being safe indoors as plans were deferred.

The sun came out yesterday bathing all in its path with that special light that only the aftermath of a storm can bring. A wondrous golden hue to everything. Like the child who shrugs after doing something really bad. "Who, me?"

I wore my aran sweater yesterday. I wear it, oh, once a year. It is too bulky to go under a coat and far too warm for spring and early fall. But yesterday was perfect for it. It will last a couple of hundred years at this rate.

We caught up on one of the deferred plans and went to the fishers' museum in St. Vincent's. Fishermen's Museum really. But I do prefer the more PC term. Because it wasn't only the fishermen. It was the women who toiled and slaved and worked so hard in the houses on the shore.

I was completely bewitched with the quilt shown above. Utterly and completely. I don't think I've ever seen women's work more honoured in one outstanding piece of work like this. In stark black and white.

Profound and gorgeous. I had to be pried away. I wanted to spend all day with it.

Cartoon of the Week

I posted about Raymond Lahey, Bishop and paedophile, here. It turns out that his associates (read priests and his superior - the archbishop) knew of his proclivities way back in 1989 right here in Newfoundland when he was a mere priest, and chose to do nothing about it. Along with a collection of child pornography in his home in Mount Pearl at that time, he entertained the boys of Mount Cashel. Yes, those boys. He was promoted to bishop soon after and skipped around to various parishes. As is the wont of the Catholic Church when it rewards its perverts.

As to Roman Polanski, much has been written. I am truly devastated at some of his supporters who have signed the petition urging his release and complete exoneration for child rape and as a fugitive from justice. These supporters I had long admired, but no longer.

Shame on you child rape apologists:

Whoopie Goldberg: (and aren't you glad it wasn't your grandchild this paedophile raped?)
Pedro Aldomar: No longer will I enjoy your movies.
Woody Allen: Q'uel suprise!
Martin Scorsese: And you the father of daughters!
Tilda Swinton: Tilda Swinton!
David Lynch: Wake up, man!

Etc.

It is completely disheartening. Lahey, at least, has now been isolated and ordered to have no contact with children or anyone under 18.

The Polanski paedophile, on the other hand, had access to his own vulnerable children for the past 30 years and many others, no doubt.

UPDATE

My friend Laurie at Three Dog Blog provided me with this link to Calvin Trillin at The Nation
and this marvellous poem:

A youthful error? Yes, perhaps.
But he's been punished for this lapse--
For decades exiled from LA
He knows, as he wakes up each day,
He'll miss the movers and the shakers.
He'll never get to see the Lakers.
For just one old and small mischance,
He has to live in Paris, France.
He's suffered slurs and other stuff.
Has he not suffered quite enough?
How can these people get so riled?
He only raped a single child.

Why make him into some Darth Vader
For sodomizing one eighth grader?
This man is brilliant, that's for sure--
Authentically, a film auteur.
He gets awards that are his due.
He knows important people, too--
Important people just like us.
And we know how to make a fuss.
Celebrities would just be fools
To play by little people's rules.
So Roman's banner we unfurl.
He only raped one little girl.

Ever Wonder Why More Women Don’t Run for Political Office?

{Above image is from Ms. O'Leary's campaign}

Misogynistic Neanderthals of any description usually move me to a kind of helpless rage on behalf of my fellow victims (read women) on this planet.

But a Newfoundland Neanderthal like Randy Simms, mayor of Mount Pearl, broadcaster of "Open Line" and unapologetic misogynist leaves me in appalled disbelief along with anger.

On his Newfoundland radio show Randy offers his following deep insight into women (a record number ran and won this year) in politics here in municipal council:

On Tuesday’s show, during a conversation with Long Harbour Deputy Mayor Ed Bruce Simms said, “There are two men and five women. Oh, my son you have my sympathy (laughter). You and Gary are not going to get your way on anything, you know that don’t you (laughter). It’s just going to be like being at home, buddy (laughter). We’re being nasty to your lady councillors aren’t we (laughter). No, you’re going to have a good crew out there.”

Sheilagh O’Leary (who won a record number of votes), one of the offended councillors, called in to complain about his sexism.

He told her she was too sensitive and to just get over it.

“My God I love that woman and now she’s, now she’s had to make herself out stupid around me. Damn I’m disappointed.”

Then he goes on, to put icing on the cake, so to speak:

“I’m disappointed for her really, not for me…because being part of a fringe element within a legitimate feminist movement is not a way to advance the cause of women’s rights.”

Emphasis mine.

Yeah, Randy. And you sure know about women’s rights, doncha buddy? Colour me fringe element.

.

The Bum of the Celtic Tiger

(Sorry, couldn't resist the headline).

In an effort to save money, (and the portend of things to come, I've no doubt) Irish parents in Carrigaline, Co. Cork - my home county in Ireland - are requesting that pupils be furnished with their own toilet paper by their parents to lighten the economic load of the school.

Seriously.

The school's principal said the measure had been taken in order to save money in the face of education funding cuts.

"We are endeavouring to trim down expenses and ensure we use our grants towards [educational needs],"

.

Read about it here.

Now I know why I always thought bidets were a good idea.

And there are those who ask me why on earth I live here.

I rambled a bit off the beaten track when driving home from my niece's yesterday, where I spent most of the weekend.

This is a photo of Rushoon:




And this is a photo of Spanish Room:




I'm only crazy about the names of these places.

Cartoon of the Week

Suffer the Little Children, Again and Again and Again.

Bishop Raymond Lahey resigned from his post as Catholic Bishop of Antigonish, Nova Scotia, Canada a couple of weeks ago. Suddenly. Just prior to his resignation it turns out his laptop had been examined by Canadian Customs officers as Bishop Lahey was going through Ottawa airport on his return from an ‘unspecified’ foreign country. Lahey was arrested because of graphic child pornography images found on his laptop. Apparently he was in the business of buying, selling and trading in such images for a long time.

I’m not surprised. I’m sure you’re not either.

However, the headlines of the Canadian papers reflect a totally different sensibility.

“Nova Scotia Diocese shocked by bishop’s pornography charges.”

– please note the absence of “child” in this headline. This is from The Telegram, our Newfoundland newspaper. Pristine you might call it. Emphasis mine.

Of course every source I’ve read doesn’t disclose the fact that old Ray denied (way back in 1999) that he was unaware of the horrific abuse perpetrated by a priest who reported to him:

The last Bishop in charge of Father Kevin Bennett , Raymond Lahey, says he had no idea Bennett was abusing young boys.
In fact, he says, the Roman Catholic church on the West Coast kept no records of complaints against him.
Bennett sexually assaulted more than 30 young boys, and they are now suing him and the church.

And said Ray also “forgot” to keep written records of the abuse reported to him. He was subsequently involved in overseeing the settlement of the millions of dollars to these victims. Setting a few dollars aside, no doubt, as start up costs for his new entrepreneurial venture. (OK, I surmise only, but seriously: where did he get the money? From his parishioners? From the Vatican?)

His acolyte, Father Paul Abbass of Antigonish says, on hearing of the arrest of his boss, with shock and awe of course:

“I’m sad, I’m shocked, I think I’m mostly concerned about our people, our priests and our diocese.”

You will note in above statement that there isn't one smidgin of remorse expressed for the abused little children that Bishop Lahey profited on.