Mea culpa, mea culpa...

...mea maxima culpa.

Catholics of a certain age will remember these words from the Latin Mass - "Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault."

And though some might view my actions of the evening last a reason for contrition, in actuality I've done you, dear reader, a great service.  More of that later.

On Sunday, Candee and I took a run down the south coast to visit with our "pp" or as he'd be known in the States, our parish priest and pastor Fr. John Morrissey.  We'd visited last year and were touched by the extraordinary hospitality offered by John and his sister Pauline.  A gracious and comfortable house - the residential version of a warm Irish pub - pictures and knick-knacks and bric a brac and family momentos and objets d'art and overstuffed chairs and couches just fill the house.  Did you need something to aid your comfort?  Look around - you didn't find one of what you needed, but five.  Three blankets on the bed and an electric blanket underneath.  Need a face cloth?  Five in your bathroom.  A bath towel.  Yup, five.  Forget your shampoo or body wash?  Well, you get the idea...

When we arrived yesterday, a bit after noon, Pauline apologized, saying that we wouldn't have lunch since we were booked for an early dinner.  Of course, as she was saying this, she pulled out a slab of cheddar cheese, homemade brown bread, rich Irish butter, a fresh-out-of-the-oven rhubarb crumble, a freshly cut up fruit salad, a hot pot of tea - "Did we like Barry's Tea? - it's the Morrissey family favorite, you know.  And, is there anything else you'd like?  Oh and did you want ice cream with your crumble?"  Mind you, Pauline's 86 years old and still thinks nothing of hopping on a plane to visit brother John in Florida, brother Martin in South Africa (a Columban missionary priest for 50 years there), her sister in Britain, or to hop in the car to go up to visit friends from her many years serving as a nurse in Dublin City.  Endlessly positive, she did grumble in just the slightest manner about the expense of dispensing christening presents to the 84 (!) grand nieces and nephews she has.  Pauline and John grew up in a family of a dozen other siblings, and, to their parents' great pride, and as evidence of their piety and the central role the Catholic faith played in their family, the Morrissey family of Cooraclare, Co Clare were able to give three priests and two nuns to the church.  Apparently, the rest of the siblings went forth and multiplied.  Hence, the immense number of nieces and nephews...

An extraordinary rhubarb crumble - a sweet and crunchy top and a warm, moist and oh-so-tart filling

John is approaching his 80th birthday, so the home was inundated with a constant stream of relatives and neighbors stopping by to "see how he was keeping" and expressing their respect and affection.  We were honored and pleased to meet so many family members.

John took us on a bit of a spin, re-visiting the Loop Head drive that we traversed last year in terrible weather conditions.  He wanted us to see it on a fine day, his pride in his native Co Clare palpably felt.

Candee and Fr. John standing on an Atlantic cliff

Along Loop Head, Co Clare

Yeah, he's a charmer alright....

And our early-booked dinner?  At Doonbeg, a lovely piece of land hard against the Atlantic where Greg Norman was able to tease a superb golf course out of the natural dunes and coastline.  Donald Trump bought the  property for pennies on the dollar during the Great Recession, which may have hit Ireland harder than the it did the States.  Last year I was proud - or perhaps, was it prideful? - to have stepped on these forbidden grounds, to have eaten the forbidden fruits of his restaurant, and to not have contributed one single pence to the pockets of one Donald J. Trump.  A false and hollow righteousness, no doubt.  But this year - this year - I found myself in a trap.  John and Pauline had picked up the tab last year, and during Pauline's somewhat recent visit to Florida, she and John took us out for dinner to the Quail Valley River Club (a place that we could not have paid).  So, I felt it imperative to extend the reciprocal courtesy on our visit to Cooraclare this year.  I feverishly looked for a suitable venue, consulting Yelp and TripAdvisor, and found an appropriate place each in the little hamlet of Cooraclare, the bustling neighboring town of Kilrush, and the seaside tourist town of Kilkee.  But, when we arrived, and as we were told that we "would have no lunch," Pauline was pleased to report that we were once again booked for dinner at Doonbeg.  I mildly protested, mentally snatching parts of the reviews I had read on TripAdvisor - "cozy, intimate atmosphere; the quintessential Irish pub; a formidable pan-fried Hake; best cappuccino in the county" - but Pauline would have none of it, gently turning aside my rationalizations - "It's just four walls; there's no ocean view; it's a stuffy old pub; the owner acts like a nosy old woman." 

So, after cocktails at 5 - including, of course, crackers and fine smoked salmon, we headed off to TRUMP Doonbeg (it needed those caps, right?).  And, to add indignity to humiliation, I carried us there - I drove.  As always, the faithful designated driver...

So, I had to give in to Pauline.  She's so very sweet.  And c'mon, you've seen the crumble...  So, let me complete my prayer.

Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.  Therefore, I beseech the Blessed Mary, ever Virgin, blessed Michael the Archangel, blessed John the Baptist, the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, all the saints, and you, Father to pray to the Lord our God for me.

So Trump has my quid.  An eventuality I could not have imagined.  Oh, and my great service to you?  To you a tax-paying American citizen?  It's exactly that.  That I gave him money.  And the more money I give him, the less he might charge us all as he stays at his own personal properties.

According to that bastion of left leaning politics, The Guardian newspaper (and corroborated by numerous other news outlets) - "Donald Trump’s Turnberry hotel was paid about £53,000 by the US government to cover the costs of the president’s two-day visit there last weekend, official payment logs reveal.

State department documents show that payments of $30,074 (£22,987) and $37,744 (£28,857) were authorised to cover Trump’s accommodation costs, paid directly to the hotel operating company that he owns.

Trump was joined at his resort by his wife, Melania, his son Eric, his White House spokeswoman, Sarah Sanders, and John Kelly, his White House chief of staff, for what was billed as a private visit.

In all, there are seven payments authorisations listed by the State Department tied specifically to Trump’s stay at his Turnberry resort, costing US taxpayers nearly $237,500 in total.

Trump’s Turnberry golf resort, on the coast of Ayrshire, has been heavily loss-making since he bought it in 2014, running up an operating deficit of £17.6m last year."

So, it is the greater good that I have so humbly served.  He, quite simply, needs our money.  But, having spent thirteen years in Catholic schools, I still carry the free-floating guilt that, somehow, I have transgressed my principles and that I now require acts of contrition to be performed to settle the uneasy feelings that have gripped me.  Therefore,

Mea Culpa.....

1st tee, 18th green, Atlantic Ocean

Hole #1

Hotel and putting green.

The evidence...