The end of the world could not have come at a more inconvenient time.
You don’t have to be an indigenous person living close to nature — or a Catholic worshipping at a grand cathedral — to be moved by sacred places.
It’s still early on a cold March morning that threatens rain, yet Rome’s Piazza Navona teems with life.
Imagine if Notre Dame lost legal ownership of its campus, and the Main Building with its Golden Dome was bulldozed to make way for the golden arches of McDonald’s.
So here you are, sitting on a bench by Notre Dame’s Main Building, trying to figure it out.
A few years ago I stuck a peace sign on the back of my car. It was uncharacteristic of me. I’m not a bumper-sticker guy.
The sign in the tavern, which abutted a motel, intrigued me so much that I stole it.
As a nurse wheeled my gurney into the glaring light of the operating room, it dawned on me that I might be gathering the last memories of my mortal life.
In the autumn of 2006, I finished riding the 477,714-mile distance from Earth to the moon and back. On a bicycle.
I am picking up sand-covered toys that the children played with all summer. Many are broken, some are faded by the sun, others missing some crucial attachment that holds water for blasting a sibling.
Well, I got rid of my clunker the other day, and now I’m suffering buyer’s remorse. And I’ll tell you why.
An important part of parenting is brainwashing our children, otherwise known as instilling in our children the appropriate level of devotion to the correct teams (Notre Dame, University of Maine, Green Bay Packers, New England Patriots, Boston Red Sox and Chicago Cubs).
Anyone with any interest in college football has either watched or heard about some miracle comeback by some Notre Dame football team at one time or another. It is part of the mystique of the institution and the lore of American sports.
The day had started early at the Charles River Square townhouse, which was then the Boston home of U.S. Sen. Edward M. Kennedy.
8.25.09, 6:38 p.m.
Photo by Matt Cashore
Notre Dame students, facutly, staff and families celebrated the opening of the school year with the annual Mass and picnic. What does it take to feed the Notre Dame family? Here is the picnic by the numbers:
10,320 meals served
8.21.09 11:37 a.m.
“It didn’t look like that much stuff in the car,” said first-year student Salina Sambar after she and her parents unloaded their minivan outside Pasquerilla West. Sambar is from Madison, Alabama.
Photo by Matt Cashore…
The invitation provoked incredulity and irony in equal measure. “Me?” inquired Frank McCourt, author of Angela’s Ashes and ’Tis. The first word of his letter was set off as a paragraph unto itself.
Amber Herkey recalls with awe meeting Father Hesburgh the first time she came to campus as a high school participant in Notre Dame’s summer African-American Catholic Leadership Seminar.
As I passed by a milestone I once thought was as distant as the stars — my 25th anniversary of graduating from Notre Dame — I am reminded of my own Notre Dame heritage.
August 20, 2009, 9:43 a.m.
The University of Notre Dame Band kicked off the 2009-10 school year with its annual marchout. Although it did in fact rain on their parade, hundreds of visitors, staff and early arriving students lined campus sidewalks to watch the event.…
At a major league ballpark in Chicago, as I tried to move out of the way, security guards rushed to stop a fight that had erupted on the concrete apron behind me. One of the guards ran into me, knocking me hard to the ungiving floor.
August 5, 2009
President Barack Obama made another appearance on the Notre Dame campus—or more accurately OVER the Notre Dame campus. Air Force One passed over God Quad as President Obama left the South Bend Regional Airport after a visit to Elkhart County.…
In The Divine Comedy, Dante accompanies Virgil through purgatory and hell. Up until about a year ago, one could be forgiven for presuming only a smattering of bankers and financiers would be found in the inferno’s depths, somewhere between the second and fourth circles, where those overcome by lust and obsession with material goods are forever damned. Now it’s apparent some Wall Street professionals deserve to be sentenced to far worse.
The turmoil roiling the world’s economy has not left Notre Dame unscathed, but University finances might be a lot worse if it weren’t for Father Ned Joyce, CSC.
A few weeks ago as I walked across the Notre Dame campus to meet Ann Tenbrunsel for lunch, I kept thinking, “How could things have gone so wrong? What a predicament we’re in.”
Iron Man, Batman, Superman, Spider-Man, X-Men and, on the tough-as-acrylic nails side, Sarah O’Connor and Lt. Ripley: Action heroes supreme, and I love ’em all.
I have the dubious distinction of ramming my car (actually gently bumping might be more accurate, since I was traveling about 3 mph at the time) into a telephone pole as I cleverly attempted to change the ring tone on my cell phone. I do not recommend this.
I didn’t see Louis until he ran past me. When I recognized his backside I yelled, “Stay strong!” I searched but never saw Vince. I waited a few minutes, certain he must have already come by in the mass of runners finishing the Sunburst 5K.
I’d never been in the spectator gallery of the Rockne Memorial swimming pool. But there I was, watching my kids take their first-ever swim lesson.
Quick, name some female head coaches of college teams. If you love women’s basketball, Muffett McGraw, Pat Summitt, Sharon Versyp and the late Kay Yow might come to mind. Now name a woman who coaches a men’s team. Hmmm.