Father Vinny & Tara

I was going to tell you the outcome of my "Millionaire" audition. However, if you don't mind, I've got a couple of different things to talk about today. Even if you do mind.

(Hint concerning my audition: I'm not planning on buying solid gold cleats or a silver bat.)

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Friday will be both sad and joyous for me. It is the day that Tara leaves and that Father Vinny returns.


Father Vinny (Fr. Vincent McKiernan, CSP) was the celebrant at our wedding. That's him directly behind MY WIFE in the above photo. He's a wonderful man, soft-spoken and a master of puns. He has been in residence at Ohio State University for many years, but was stationed at The Paulist Center, Park Street, Boston, before that. That's where MY WIFE met him, long before she and I got together.

Father Vinny was a strong influence and help to MY (future) WIFE as she struggled with some personal problems. It could be conjectured that, without Vinny's help, we wouldn't have eventually gotten together at all.

Anyway, once we had decided to get married, there was no doubt in either of our minds concerning who we wanted to officiate. It was definitely Vinny. We secured the neccessary permissions from the Archdiocese and the state, for an out-of-state clergyman, and Vinny flew in and did the job.

This Friday evening, Vinny will be presiding at a mass celebrating his 50th anniversary as a priest. The mass will be at The Paulist Center. We'll both be in attendance, with MY WIFE actually limbering up her vocal chords once again, joining the choir for this occasion. It should be a night of much happiness, a few joyful tears, old friends seeing each other after long absences, and more good stuff. I'm tremendously looking forward to it.

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On the other hand, the parts of Friday that precede the mass will be melancholy at best. Tara is leaving our office, having found a new job closer to home and with a bit more pay. In the photo below, that's her on the left.


I've been with Marketing Messages for 16 years now. Of the five office managers we've had during that time period, Tara is easily my favorite.

(Anyone who knows the history of our office managers is laughing at that statement. It would be damned hard for her NOT to have been my favorite. Three of the previous four ripped us off in one way or another, while the fourth was only on the job for about six weeks. Well, anyway, even if those things were different, she'd still be my favorite.)

Tara makes each day a pleasure. She is quick, witty, sharp and sarcastic - all traits I love in a woman. And she's the best person in the office to talk sports with. Damn nice legs, too - even though I'm not supposed to notice such things, being married and all. Tough not to notice those pins, though. Yowza!

(You can't see them in the photo. Take my word for it.)

It's hard to say good-bye to someone you've spent 8 hours a day with for such a long time. I want to hit just the right note between tearfully-mushy and the stereotypical I'm-a-guy-and-guys-aren't-supposed-to-get-sentimental.

Ahhhhhh, to hell with it. I'm going for the tearful mush.

Tara - I'm going to miss you terribly. You've been the best "office wife" I could have possibly had. For the next few weeks, I'll be expecting to hear your laugh and feeling sad when I don't.
I'll walk by your desk and, even though someone capable will be filling your chair, I'll feel a void.

I'll miss...

The way every peddler in the world could walk in our front door and sell you something, so long as it had a Red Sox logo on it.

The way you address every female as "Miss Heather" or "Miss Lynda" or "Miss... whomever."

How you always laid out goodies on the break-room table and then denied you put them there.

The way you made every voice-talent feel at home, offering them a drink, meanwhile making copies of their scripts for me.

How you always seemed to send me an e-mail joke at just the time when I needed a laugh.

How it seems like every three months your house has a new pet - and the tremendous triple-jointed names your family comes up with for them.

And a hundred other things that either I'm forgetting right now or which you wouldn't want mentioned in public. Every day you're gone, I'll be thinking of another one.

(She's been a regular reader of this blog since day one, too. That, alone, is worth combat pay.)

You're taking a piece of my heart with you, Blondie. God bless and take care.