Pit Stop

As we made our way back home from Philadelphia, or at least to my oldest son's home in Newark, Ohio, we made a side trip while still well from arrival. 

The place had several impressive amenities. There were picnic tables here and there outside, while inside the building were sitting areas arranged in conference style, tables surrounded by six quite comfortable looking chairs. Broad, wide windows illuminated a spacious central room which you might even call an atrium. Interior walls were decorated with maps both modern and historic, detailing places and events of yore. There were even a few articles of interest from local artisans along with past archaeological finds. An extensive array of vending machines were to the side and blended into the scene unobtrusively, almost apologetic in their presence. Porticos ran along opposite outside walls, and were lined with sturdy yet graceful rocking chairs. One was occupied by a woman, relaxing and reading a book. It was very nearly a resort. 

Have I mentioned yet that we were at a rest area on Interstate 70 in southeast Ohio?

The place was made up as though it were a destination rather than a convenient spot for, ah, urgent human functions. Do folks actually go there simply to lounge? Would a husband wishing to spend time with his wife ask, "Honey, feel like taking a little time off this afternoon and chilling at the bathrooms on I-70? They have cold drinks and small bags of Doritos. We could pack a lunch. The sunset from the west portico is divine." Of course as I've said, one person was indeed sitting on a rocker reading as though on the deck of a cruise ship or in the lobby of a spa. 

I get it. I get that states try to make rest areas double as promotional adverts for local and statewide places and events. Yet this felt like something beyond that: something almost surreal. 'Welcome to Ohio! Come for the potties, stay for the views.' 

A bit over the top for a bathroom break, in my opinion.

The side trip

I write to you this morning from Olive Branch, Mississippi. It's a nice area just a tad southeast of Memphis. And I'll have you know I drove here, all 800 miles, yesterday. I intend to drive the entire 800 miles home later today. I like driving; I don't see why so many bemoan it.

Anyways, on the way through Kentucky I got to thinking that maybe I was close to the Dominican Priory where many of the old pastors of St. Dominic, the Church I grew up in here in the D, had trained, so I thought maybe I'd check it out. The Internet being the wonderful thing it (generally) is, I pulled into a rest area and behold, Springfield, Kentucky was the next exit. The Priory itself was about thirty miles off the freeway. But I had time, so I took the side trip.

St. Rose of Lima is a beautiful little country church on a tall hillside outside of Springfield. It has an unusual octagonal tower which makes it rather unique, causing the Church to stand even higher on the hill. Behind it was a small cemetery where a few of the priests I knew are interred. Fr. Thomas Smith, he was the one who came out and shagged flies with my brother and I and me Pops that summer Sunday ages ago. Fr. Thomas Hennessey; he baptized my daughter, and in so doing gave one of the most beautiful little sermons I've heard. Father James Murray was a small, nervous preacher. But if you got him mad, well, there's a couple soon to be blogs there, good ones both. Fr. Ralph Townsend, Fr. Ballard, Fr. Sibila; it was sad but it was sublime to see such names of such folk whom I haven't seen in years on the granite markers behind the Church.

The building was open so I went inside. I lit a couple candles and said a few prayers for those deceased priests who have meant so much to me. The Dominican fathers individually and as a group have influenced me in such profound manners that I can't begin to express how grateful I am that they were a part of my life. I'm truly happy the Holy Spirit spoke to me yesterday morning. It was Him who inspired me to actually go, because I almost did not. Business, making time on the road and all that rot, you know.

But that's one of the reasons I like to drive. It can give you time to do stuff you could not otherwise do, and I have from time to time thought I would like to see that Priory.

Maybe I do have a bucket list after all. Maybe it just presents itself as things go along.