Roasted Red Peppers

I just roasted some red peppers that I got on sale at Kroger today. Every time I see them, I think of my dad and have to buy some. He was the consummate pepper roaster. I can remember coming in on a Saturday afternoon to the acrid smell of burnt pepper skin wafting out of the oven. I hated that smell, but I loved the taste of those roasted peppers.

Red ones were the best. They were sweeter than the green ones, although Dad had a way of taking the edge off green peppers and making them almost as tasty as the red ones. Still, when red peppers were on sale, we knew we were in for a treat.

Whenever I'd see them for less than $1 each, I'd buy 4 or 5 for Dad and take them out to his house. I'd try to get the big, fleshy ones so that the roasted meat would be juicy and good. He'd put them whole, under the broiler, turning them until the skins were black on every side, and they'd deflated a bit. Then he'd take them out, let them cool awhile, and then peel the blackened skin from the meat of the pepper, carefully saving any juice that dripped down while he peeled them.

Once there was a pile of roasted pepper in a dish, he'd sprinkle some red wine or balsamic vinegar on the slices and let them sit and cool. Then we would feast. It was nothing for us to eat 4 or 5 peppers at one sitting. They were so good. Sometimes, he'd make a batch and bring them up to me. They'd be cold from the fridge, stewing in the vinegar/pepper juice mix, and would taste oh so good. My peppers never taste like Dad's did no matter what I do.

I think roasted peppers are a family thing. Dad's older cousin, Jane, told me once how her grandmother, Jane, used to hold the peppers on a spit over the coal burning furnace until they were black and then fix them up to eat later. She said, "Gran's peppers were so delicious! I could never make mine taste like Gran's." That must be a family thing too...Or maybe it's just that peppers taste so much better when they are cooked by someone you love.

A Letter to Fr. Fred.

Dear Fr. Fred,

You have been on my mind a great deal this Lenten Season, so I was very happy to find you so easily on the Internet!

I hope you remember me...from Our Lady of Consolation in Louisville. I still live here after a brief few years traveling with my military husband from Texas to Arizona to Hawaii and back. Kirk and I will be married 20 years soon and have 3 kids. Our son is 16, and our daughters are 13 and 10.

You probably know Mom died in September 2005 after a long battle with cancer, and Dad died in July, 2011 from complications of Parkinson's Syndrome (actually we're pretty sure he had Multiple System Atrophy, but Parkinson's Syndrome is easier for people to understand.)

I was sitting in church last night for Holy Thursday services remembering when Mom had her feet washed. I think she was one of the first women in the parish to have this done, and I think you did it. Whoever it was remarked on the nice paint job on her toenails! I remember she got her first pedicure just for that occasion!

Holy Thursday usually stirs up my nostalgia, and I find that Holy Thursday and Good Friday---the incense, the songs, the prayers---take me back to the pews of OLC and the many, many hours I spent in services there. You are the priest I remember most from my childhood, and I wanted you to know how very much I treasure and appreciate all of the times you shared with our family.

I remember when you came to OLC. We had loved Fr. Arnold so much, and we didn't know how you would be, but you were so funny and nice, and we fell in love with you right away. I can picture you walking down the halls of school in your black cassock with the rope belt with the knots tied in it. (Fr. David always twirled his, but you didn't). You were the epitome of a "friendly friar." You used to come into the classroom to pass out our report cards, and I remember waiting nervously as you looked at mine, hoping and praying that I got good grades! Once I got an "N" for too much talking! You looked at me and simply said, "Let's fix this next time." I straightened right up!

One day, I was sent to the hallway during class for an unjust accusation (really!). It was the first time I had EVER been sent to the hall. I was sobbing, and you walked by. I was mortified because I didn't want you to think I had done something wrong when I hadn't. You stopped and listened to me, and I quit crying. The teacher eventually got the whole story, and I was exonerated, but your kindness stayed with me.

You were also very easy to go to confession to. My sins seemed awful, but once I told you, and never felt judged, I felt like a new child of God. Never shamed. Never judged. Always accepted and encouraged to do better next time.

I remember I thought it was so cool how you loved Snoopy. I wanted to get you a Peanuts ornament for Christmas one year. I think I persuaded Mom to buy it for you, if I remember correctly. I was so pleased!

You never seemed upset about anything. I loved how you and the other friars would come to our house for parties. I always felt like we were special because you all came by. Do you remember my mom cooking breakfast for you all one night after Midnight Mass? You and another priest (Fr. David, maybe?) came by after mass, and Mom fried up eggs and bacon and hash browns, all at the spur of the moment. It was so unexpected. It still brings a smile to my face.

And once I remember I was having a slumber party. It was on a Friday during Lent. Mom had accidentally purchased pepperoni pizza for my friends and me. When she realized what she had done, she told us that we would have to wait until after midnight to eat it, but then she got to wondering if it would be okay, since she was worried if we were still on Friday since we were still awake. So she called you to ask if we could eat the pepperoni pizza after midnight. You laughed, she said, and asked, "Wanda, what day is it at 12:01?" She replied, "Saturday." You said, "Then they can eat the pizza!" And we did.

Over the past few years, I have struggled with some of the rules of the Catholic faith (remember, my dad was a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat!). Being raised Catholic is the only thing I know, and I didn't want to leave the Church. I was in a parish with a diocesan priest/cannon lawyer/vicar/tow-the-line pastor. There was not a lot of room for questioning or disagreement or anything. I felt accused and frowned upon and outcast.

Some of the only things that kept me going were my memories of you and the other wonderful Franciscan priests who had "raised" me in my faith. I remember just being surrounded by kindness and compassion and caring. It didn't seem to me that you were as much about the rules as you were about the people---your concern about our well-being, our joy, our feeling the love of God in our lives. Maybe I'm remembering incorrectly, and you were about the rules. If that is the case, please don't correct me! My memories of OLC and being surrounded by compassionate priests who cared about their parishioners is what got me through the past few years, and I just wanted to thank you for that!

I sat in the pew tonight, as our new priest (smile!) carried the cross down the aisle before the veneration, and memories of you flashed in my head. It was Good Friday at OLC. Middle of the day. The pews were packed with kids. The lights were out in church, but sunlight was streaming thorough the stained glass windows, casting a mystical light on all of us. I could visualize you holding the crucifix covered in a purple cloth singing, "This is the wood of the cross..." and unwrapping a section at a time as you made your way to the altar. It brought tears to my eyes and a smile to my lips, that memory.

Fr. Fred, thank you for being such a wonderful priest. Thank you for your compassion and kindness and friendliness and caring. Thank you for being a part of our celebrations and our sadness, for shaping the early years of my faith and giving me somewhere to cling in times of trouble and doubt. I always felt safe in your church, at your mass, around you. You were a little bit of Jesus on Earth, and I am so glad to know you!

I hope that your ministry is a blessing in your life, as I am sure you are a blessing to those you serve. I hope you have a wonderful Easter Season!

With deepest fondness,