He and I have been writing letters and emailing since our first visit to Hasselt, Belgium, in 1997 with my parents.  Father Ferdinand Jennen, 82, is a Crosier priest some 60 years now.  He has visited America more than once, having many relatives here.  The line gets long and tangled but, to make it short, my Grandma Mary was also a Jennen whose parents hailed from Flemish speaking Belgium.
When we arrived at Father Jennen's chuch home, it was as though the years had not passed.  I recalled the kitchen, hallway, enclosed patio and garden.  But there was some change.  Today his small room is crowded with a computer system smack dab in the middle of it. 
Father Jennen's tiny bed is pushed into a corner.  His books are still important, and photographs of friends and family are taped here and there.  I smiled to see the recent Victoria Gazette spread out on his desk with markings of his pen. 
Our Flemish priest showed us his photograph album, which we paged through together, recalling other relatives from Minnesota who have also visited him and his sisters who live nearby.
I gave Father Jennen my front seat as we drove out to Dilsen to see his sister Bernadette Salden, 69, who is called Benny.  Her Belgian sweets were delicious.  At Benny's home we also looked at family photographs, including that of her husband who died nine years ago and their handsome son.
Just down the road at Lanklaar we stopped with Father Jennen to see Theophil and Josee Keymis.  I've heard the names of these relatives before, but I'd never met them.  Let me tell you, meeting them means never forgetting them.  Theophil, 62, is effervescent and gives dozens of kisses and hugs.  His wife Josee, 57, smiles at our reaction to him.
Their home is big, beautiful, and well decorated.  Their large manicured yard is like a small arboretum.  Theophil speaks perfect English and fills the air with his energy as we visited on their outdoor patio and strolled through their gardens.  Sunshine was following us everywhere.
Just down the road we stopped with Father Jennen at the home of his sister Mariette, 79, and her husband Josef Dreesen.  Allan and I had visited this home for dinner back in 1997 with my parents.  Again, we reminisced and talked about family in the states and looked at books and photo albums. 
Mariette speaks perfect English and is a world traveler.  Husband Josef used to raise homing pigeons.  Their home and yard are also spacious and inviting.  One of their sons is a journalist for the Limburg newspaper.
Mariette took us to see their daughter Reinhilde Gouverneur and family that evening.  Reinhilde's home is very very large and private and beautiful.  We felt honored and humbled that everyone took time to greet us and make us feel to home.
As afternoon and evening had now turned into night, we had to get Father Jennen back to his home and bed.  Still recovering from a severe embolism this past January, he tires easily.
For old times' sake Allan and I spent the night at the Ibis Hotel in Hasselt, the same spot we had stayed with my parents.  The rooms are tiny and not plush in any way, but the place is clean, convenient, modern, and serves an excellent breakfast -- all the European cold cuts, breads, jams, jellies, cheeses, juices, hardboiled eggs, and very strong coffee.
The next morning Allan and I walked from the Ibis to the cobblestone center plaza of Hasselt, shopped the shops, had coffee at an outdoor cafe, checked out an antique show, took pictures, and enjoyed the sunshine. 
At 2 p.m., as arranged, we returned to Father Jennen's place, where I asked to use his computer to send a couple emails.  How interesting to note that some of the letters on the Dutch keyboard are in different locations than American keyboards, which made my emails look like they were written by a drunken sailor.
Then we took Father Jennen to a nearby restaurant for a final visit and farewell drink.  His Scotch ale is a dark sweet beer to which his father introduced him long ago.  It put a glint in his eye.
Our Belgian host blessed some gifts for me and asked both Allan and me if we were happy.  "That's good.  It is important," he said to our replies.  We hugged goodbye and it was sad as we drove away from him.  Ferdinand remained standing outside his door at Kruisherenlaan 29, watching as we turned the corner, and we waved one final time.

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