Okay...Maybe Not QUITE Paradise

In my last post, titled "Paradise," I regaled you with tales about our idyllic week-long lake vacation with our children and grandchildren at our Oyster Haven Vrbo rental house, and not one word that I wrote was a lie.  It was an amazing week, full of love and laughter, almost too good to be true.  Almost, but not quite.  I mean, as far as how things tend to go in the real world down here on planet earth (which can never truly be Paradise, but can in fact more adequately be described as the promised "Valley of Tears"), it was indeed a fairly magical and joy-filled week for the Pearl family. However, I did leave out a few details…

...there was one unfortunate freak accident that I didn't mention in that post, and it led to a two-night hospital stay for our #4 son.  I can imagine your wrinkled brow and the look of horror on your face, so please be assured that although it was quite scary there for a bit, our boy ended up being fine and his vacation week wasn't completely ruined.  (And throughout the ordeal, he kept saying that he was so glad that it happened to him and not one of the children.)

Okay, maybe I should go ahead and tell the whole story.

People started arriving for our Pearl-a-palooza on Saturday, July 19 and by Sunday, all the weary travelers had made it to the lake house.  All 35 of us were together, looking forward to a week of fun in the sun at our private sandy beach in our cozy private cove.  Then on Monday, while his kids were having a ball swimming and kayaking with their cousins, son #4 started wading out in waist-deep water to join them. As he was walking along, his thigh got poked by the razor-sharp branch of a log that must have drifted in from the nearby island during a windy spring storm or something (because we'd never seen this log before, during previous summers).  Right away, our son knew that he was going to need medical attention.  The puncture wound, while rather small, was extremely deep.  So deep that he could see the different layers of tissue inside.  He and his wife took off for the urgent care facility, where he was stitched up and told to watch for signs of infection.

Before long, the skin around the wound started to get pink and swollen and hot.  Our son and his wife contacted several nurse friends for advice, and one of them was surprised that the urgent care doc had opted to stitch it up. She told them to keep an eye on the reddened area, and to go back in if it started to grow.  They wisely drew a line all around the infected area with a black Sharpie marker, so that they could see if the redness was spreading.  By Tuesday, they knew there was a problem because the infection was creeping well past the circle they'd drawn, and they went back to urgent care.  The stitches were removed, and an antibiotic was prescribed. But by Wednesday, it was obvious that the medication wasn't knocking out the infection.  So they headed to the ER, and our son was admitted and put on IV antibiotics.  He ended up having to stay Wednesday and Thursday nights; and with the infection finally under control, he came home on Friday--which happened to be my birthday.  It was the best birthday present I've ever gotten, getting him back that day.

Through this whole ordeal, he never did run a fever.  He never got septic. He was well taken care of at the hospital.   But that dangerous-looking red area on his thigh haunted me until it finally began to fade and go away and he was back with us, safe and sound.

When I went to the hospital on Wednesday night to visit my boy, I had to take turns with his wife because they hadn't gotten a room for him yet and only one visitor at a time was allowed in the ER. After I got to see him and came out so that she could go in, I was just a blubbering mess, sitting there in the waiting room with tears streaming down my face. I let myself imagine all the what-ifs and was sick at the thought that this simple injury could become catastrophic.  Seeing how large the red area had grown, even after he’d received the first infusion of antibiotics, kind of terrified me, because I know that sometimes an uncontrolled infection can spell amputation and even in the worst cases, death.  I shed many tears (in private, so that our son's four kids and all of their cousins wouldn't see how worried Grammy was) and said a lot of prayers over those days that he was in the hospital.  But thanks be to God, the antibiotics worked and he came home to us in one piece.  

Our son had to keep his wound dry for the rest of the week in NY, so there was no more going in the lake for him, which was a bummer.  Even though his vacation was less than perfect, however, his boss gave him a few extra days off to make up for the ones he'd missed, and he did get to enjoy about four days post-hospital going for boat rides, watching his kids get tube rides behind the boat, and hanging out with the family and making us laugh, as always.  This son is an extremely funny person.  He has a knack for quietly delivering quick off-hand remarks worded in such a way that they totally hit the funny bone.  When he was in the hospital, his room was on a floor where most of the patients were geriatric.  One nurse came in to take his vitals and told him that they were just great, the best she'd seen in a long time (remember, she was dealing with mostly elderly people, not young bucks like him).  My son, without missing a beat, replied, "I'm known for my vitals."  (He might have added something like, "They're my best feature," but since I don't blog regularly now, it's been so long since it happened that some of the details have gotten fuzzy!) I wasn't there, but my sister--the one with whom my mom lived for seven years--was visiting him at the time and witnessed this humorous exchange, and she said the nurse just loved him.

But I say, who wouldn't?!

He knew his situation could turn serious, but he stayed calm throughout and never lost his sense of humor.  He even weighed in on a funny conversation he heard that his brothers and their wives had been having back at the lake house, about being a nighttime shower person versus a morning shower person.  (It was loud and heated and pretty hilarious.  We are a family of sting opinions!) He said, "If I don't make it, tell [the sister-in-law who insists that not showering before going to bed is unthinkable] that I say not showering in the morning is gross."  The fact that he could joke about not making it...I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it.

Not too long before our vacation week, that same sister who visited him had told me about a local girl up here who'd had a similar incident: she got a cut that caused some weird raging infection.  But hers ended up going septic, and this poor gal ended up losing her leg.  She was just a teen, a young athlete who had to deal with a devastating blow like that.  The fact that my son completely recovered from his injury seems practically miraculous to me, when I think of how many families have outcomes that are so very different.  God has been very good to the Pearls, and a day doesn't go by that I don't humbly thank Him for all the blessings He's bestowed on us.  I am so incredibly grateful, for son #4's health and for so many other things.

So good to have him back--it just wasn't the same without him!

A hug for Daddy.

I'd love to know what he's saying here.  I would probably be laughing.

Enjoying my birthday present!

At least he got to do some of this!

We look forward to a do-over for son #4 next summer. And before anyone even thinks about going swimming, we'll all be policing the beach area to make sure there are no hidden dangers lurking in the water--like that raise-frassin' log!  (Excuse my language!)

Until next time...be safe out there, dear readers!

Paradise

I started this post on July 29…and here it is, a whole month later, and I'm finally finishing it.

Okay, full disclosure: all I'd written so far was the title! Because at that time, we were just coming off of our annual week-long Pearl summer vacation at our Vrbo lake house, Oyster Haven, with all five of our boys, all five of their lovely wives, and all of their offspring--our 23 darling grandchildren (the oldest of which are 14-year-old twins, and the youngest of which is a cherubic little six-month-old).  What a fabulous week it was!! Crowded and noisy and messy, but just perfect.  And I couldn't wait to blog about it.  But for some reason, I just couldn't write the post.  In recent months (years!), I've been having the hardest time making myself sit down to update this neglected old site of mine. Then the more days that pass without doing it, the more it seems that perhaps I'm not invested enough anymore and it might be time to close up shop.  

But then I'll read an old post, and I'll smile and think, "I had forgotten all about that..."  Or I'll want to share a certain old picture on our family text stream, and I can't find it; then I'll remember that I used it in a blog post once--and voila, there it is, right there in my blog archives.  If I stop blogging now, maybe I'll miss having all these memorable family moments archived here, where I can go back and re-live them whenever I'm in the mood.  Perhaps, then, I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet.  

I don't know if you follow Jenny Uebbing (who used to write a blog called Mama Needs Coffee, which I loved so much, but can now be found writing at Jenny@MamaNeedsCoffee on Substack from time to time). She was one of those long-form "mommy bloggers" whose name was well-known in the Catholic blogging community and who like many of the other big influencers made the shift over to Instagram, but has mostly stayed off social media as of late.  I love when I see that she has a new post on Substack.  She is one of the online voices who occasionally wonders whether old-school blogs will rise out of the ashes once again.  I tend to doubt it, because I think everyone wants to scroll and digest quick tidbits before moving on to something else, rather than read one whole long essay. But I do hope blogs find a resurgence in popularity.

Not that I have any illusions that my little String o' Pearls would ever become popular or well-known, which is fine with me because I really do just blog for myself, as weird as that might sound. Because I like words.  I like playing with them, moving them around.  I like editing and re-writing.  Definitely weird.  Maybe all writers are a little weird (and it feels strange to even call myself a writer, but I kind of live for words and putting them down on paper--so I suppose that makes me one).

Anyway, I was going to finish up a post, right?  Before I got sidetracked.  A post about Paradise.  This is already longer than I wanted it to be, but that's okay.  I won't have to add too many more words, because the title tells the whole story, it does.  This place of ours on the shore of Lake Champlain is Paradise on earth, it truly is. Sometimes, I don't think it's worth the work and worry to manage a vacation property in NY when our primary residence is in VA...but then we have this week up here with our kids and grandkids, which they have come to look forward to all year long, and which is forming what we hope are lifelong happy memories of priceless family time shared with cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents...and I know it's most definitely worth it.

So here's the photo dump, which will give you an idea of just how idyllic our week was.  (I'm sharing pictures that don't show close-ups of the kids' faces, out of respect for some of our boys' wishes,)

So you get the idea!  It was the best week.  The kids had SO MUCH fun together!

We leave a guest book out for our renters to write in, in case they're moved to leave messages for us about their stay at Oyster Haven.  One family who stayed here in 2024 said that "this place now houses part of our story." Ours, too!  Another recent renter wrote, "We came here for our grandson's wedding, but instead found heaven on earth. Staying here was a dream come true..."  I know just how she feels!  Seeing our string of Pearls playing together on the beach is a complete and utter joy for me, a proverbial dream come true.  (As is watching them play Monopoly at the kitchen table.  Or  being amazed by the intricate "box village" they build out on the lawn, using the big cardboard boxes that our new Adirondack chairs came in--which thankfully, we didn't destroy before they got their hands on them!  It's all joy.  So. Much. Joy!)

[Sigh...] I feel so incredibly blessed to have all these people to love, and that my husband and I are able to give them this one heavenly week together every summer.

Phew!  I did it!  I wrote a post!  And maybe I'll be back again before too long.

God bless you, dear readers.

Still Alive Here!

Recently, an old high school friend of mine (who is a sweetheart) texted me to find out if I was OK, because she hadn’t seen a post here at the blog in such a long time. And at our age, she said, you just never know…

But rest assured, I’m still alive and well and about to celebrate my 67th birthday. My husband and I left Virginia a few weeks ago to come up north and manage our Oyster Haven rental property on Lake Champlain.  We had a little family party with our three Virginia sons and their 14 kids before we headed to New York, and this was the view in our kitchen with the grandkids that day, enjoying ice cream after a trip to our neighborhood pool...

Great view, to be sure.  ❤️

And this is the view out the back yard at my husband’s childhood home by the lake, where we’ve been staying since we got back up north.  

Not too shabby!

Today, our five boys and their gangs (23 grandchildren in all!) start arriving for our week-long Pearl-a-palooza at Oyster Haven, which we blocked off for our family’s use. We look forward to this gathering all year!  We’re in the process of moving in there now.

I’ll be sharing some pictures of the views from our lakeside paradise, if I can find breaks in the chaos to do so!  We'll have 35 people sleeping in a 4-bedroom, 2-and-1/2 bathroom house (with two extra basement "bedrooms" set up as well).  Six sleeping areas for 35 people.  It's always interesting!

Thanks for stopping by this deserted old ghost-town of a blog of mine, dear readers.  I’ll try to take better care of it moving forward!

Throwback Thursday: My Forever Boyfriend

I really should blog about Easter…and I will, soon.  But you see, I was scrolling through the pictures on my phone recently (all 15,000) of them, and I stopped dead in my tracks when I came across this one. Whoah. Be still my heart!  Pass the smelling salts!

Who is this handsome young devil, you ask?  It's my boyfriend, that's who.  That is, my husband of going-on-45 years.

This nostalgia-inducing photo was shared with us a few years ago by one of my husband's Naval aviator friends from the early days of our marriage (he is the one on the left, cropped out of the picture!).  I'm not even sure I'd ever seen it before that, and I don't remember exactly where it was taken, or when; but I do know that my husband was probably in his mid-to-late-20's here.  When he was 30, he got out of the Navy and began working for one of the major US airlines.  And the mustache (which so many of the Navy fighter pilots in our circle sported during the 1980's) had to go for his new job.  So he's definitely younger than 30 in this picture.

I fell in love with this face (minus the mustache) when he and I became boyfriend-and-girlfriend the summer after our freshman year in high school.  We were both just 15, a couple of babies.  But I knew pretty soon after we began going steady that this guy was the one for me.  

He was.  He is.  And he always will be.  He's my forever boyfriend.

P.S.  This was fun.  And you know what?  I think I'm going to start sharing my favorite oldie-but-goodie pictures every Thursday here at the blog.  :)

RIP, Sweet Carolyn

Today we buried my mom.

She died on March 1 and her funeral was on March 22, but in upstate NY the ground is too hard and frozen at that time of year for burials.  So today, all five of us siblings and our spouses gathered together to see her laid to rest next to our dad.  My two brothers live close enough to make a day trip if necessary, and my two sisters live right here in the area.  My husband and I live the farthest away; we made the 10-hour drive up yesterday, and we'll be heading back to VA tomorrow.

Mom's Catholic funeral Mass on March 22 was a glorious thing.  Her grandsons were pallbearers; two of her granddaughters and two great-granddaughters brought up the gifts; my husband and I did the readings (I am rather shocked that I was able to get through mine without breaking down, but I managed to hold it together pretty well); one of my sisters led the prayers of the faithful; and after the Mass, before everyone left the church, one of my brothers (the oldest of Mom's five children) and my other sister (the youngest) took turns reading parts of a touching eulogy that had been written by my oldest brother.  The hymns sung were reverent, holy, and perfect; the homily given by the deacon (a childhood friend of my oldest brother) was perfect.  It was all perfect.  I should have blogged about it sooner.

I also never did blog about the absolutely awesome celebration of life we had for my mom right after that beautiful funeral Mass.  She would have loved it (did love it, I'm sure, from where she was watching).  We decorated every windowsill in the event room of my sister-in-law's brewery/restaurant/inn with framed photos from Mom's life, and a photo montage also played on a loop on the big-screen TV mounted high on the wall.  My younger brother (a very talented singer/guitar player, who in retirement has regular gigs in the Albany, NY area and is "somewhat famous in parts of Cohoes," as he likes to joke) stepped up to the mic and put on a little performance for us.  Some of the songs he chose were ones that my mom used to sing when we were kids, 60's folk songs by Ian and Silvia or Peter, Paul, and Mary (and if you're not in your 50's or 60's yet and you're reading this, you probably don't know who in the world I'm talking about).  He also played Hallelujah, always a winner.  And Sweet Caroline, changing it to "Sweet Carolyn" (and now you know my mom's first name).  There was a buffet of delicious hot and cold hors d'oeuvres, an open bar, and numerous friends and loved ones gathered together to honor the life of an amazing woman.  It really was quite spectacular.  Four of our five boys were able to make it (the one who lives in Nashville flew into DC to meet up with his three VA brothers so they could all carpool up together).  In all, 13 of my mother's 17 grandchildren were there, along with a few of her great-grandkids.  There were other family members with us, too--including one of our cousins and her husband, some of my in-laws, some of my siblings' in-laws--and lots of friends of ours and our mom's.  It was an Irish wake (after the funeral instead of before), a fitting tribute for a woman whose maiden name was Kelly.

I will never forget the joyfulness with which we celebrated our mother.  Since the funeral, I have not had a single day where I haven't cried, at least once, usually while praying our daily Rosary aloud but at other random times, too.  I was talking to one of my sons the other day about how throughout the year leading up to her death, my mother had constant health issues and was in and out of the ER.  Everyone was trying to figure out what was going on, to get answers and solutions, so that she could get her health back to where it had been. I kept thinking, however, that the hard truth was that she was 89, and perhaps at that age she was never going to get it back. I felt that we needed to be realistic.  So as I told my boy, I thought I was prepared for the worst. Silly me.

Because nothing ever really prepares you for losing your mother.  Nothing. 

Anyway, I'm going to do a belated sharing of photos from the grand Irish wake we had for our mom.

The music begins!

My talented brother.

Toasting our Mom and Dad with my Dad's precious bottle of cognac,
which we'd been saving for a special occasion.

The grandkids.

My baby sister and me.

All five of Mom's babies.

Family!

Here is a link to a short YouTube video snippet of my brother playing Sweet Carolyn.  It was the highlight of the celebration.  (Pretty much guaranteed to make you smile.)

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/bPG_MDZ_zxc

After the burial today, we stopped by the old brick mansion that was owned by our paternal grandmother (and in which we lived for about 1 and 1/2 years, in an upstairs apartment, until I was 10).  It has been mostly sitting empty over the past few decades and is in a sad state of disrepair, but it looks like someone is in the process of renovating it.

I'm so happy that I have these four siblings, and that we all like each other and get along.  That we make each other laugh--a lot!  That we share so many memories that no one else in the world has but us. I wonder if our boys remember us telling them when they were young that we might not be rich in money, but they were rich in brothers, and that was even better. What has become plainer to me than ever, since the loss of my mom (nine years after my dad's passing), is how very true that is. The best gift parents can give their children is siblings. If at all possible, of course (I know there are couples who desperately want more children than they can have).

I'm so glad that my brothers and sisters and I had each other to go through this painful right of passage with, and that we were able to give our mother the send-off she deserved.  RIP, Mom.

Spring Has Sprung in VA: Birds and Blooms—and RBF!

Here’s a the current state of affairs at Casa Pearl.

A little bird is building her nest in a fake flowering plant that we have hanging on our little side porch by the patio.  Real bird. Fake plant.  It all seems to be working out beautifully.

Bigfoot is thrilled to see the first real blooms in our perennial garden along the side of the house.  Trust me, he’s thrilled. That’s just his usual expression: RBF (Resting Bigfoot Face).

And the cherry blossoms are in full bloom on my favorite tree out front.  It's just SO lovely.

I love living here.  (We have a white picket fence, no less!  What's not to love?)  Where my husband and I come from in upstate NY, a recent storm dumped 8-12 inches of snow.  I prefer springtime in VA!

There is so much beauty all around us in this world, isn’t there?  The wonder of God’s creation, it takes my breath away sometimes.  (The sun is about to rise as I write this, with the sound of birds singing outside the window; and I imagine them flying in and out of the branches of my favorite tree.)

Little glimpses of what Heaven must be like: I see them all the time.  

Today, VA feels like Heaven.

Life Goes On...Incredibly

Tomorrow it will be exactly one month since my mother took her last breaths, with four of her five children gathered around her hospital bed, shortly after hearing the voice of her one missing son (her firstborn) on speaker phone.  All five of us were able to spend the week-and-a-half before she died with her almost constantly, reminiscing about our history as a family and telling her how much we loved her.  And she died peacefully, without pain, after 89 years of living a rather blessed life.

We all have to go; and that being the case, she had an extraordinarily beautiful death--one you might plan out for yourself, if given the option to do so.

I did the second reading at my mom's funeral, Corinthians 15:51-57.  I'm sure you know it, this part at least: "Death is swallowed up in victory.  Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting?"  (Getting through that reading without breaking down entirely was a victory for me that day, I'll tell you.)

Yes, it was a beautiful passing from this earthly life, which is so very short compared to the eternal one into which Mom has entered.  But still, it does sting.  For those left behind, it stings indeed.

I think about my mom all the time.  About how she lived.  And how she died.

I mostly feel fine, staying dry-eyed more often than not and getting on with life...but in spite of all this "fineness," tears are always lurking, hidden right beneath the surface.  And the most random, unexpected catalysts can set them off when I least expect it.

I have great hope that my mother is in Heaven already, and my dad is there, too, so happy to be with his best girl again.  And that she's continuing to enjoy her great-grandmother role with the five tiny little Pearls none of us ever got to meet down here (what a comforting thought!).  But there's still that stinging sensation.

While my husband and I were up in NY for the funeral, on our way out of daily Mass one day we picked up two free copies of a book called 33 Days to Eucharistic Glory, a guide to Eucharistic Consecration. We are reading through a chapter each day, and we often discuss our thoughts about them afterward.  On the second day, the readings and reflections had to do with this question: Are you a pilgrim or a tourist?  This chapter was filled with reminders that this world is not our home, that we are just pilgrims passing through, on a spiritual journey to a sacred destination.  "If you go on vacation for a week, you don't consider the hotel you stay at to be your home.  You know it is a brief stay.  In the context of eternity, your life [on earth] is like that hotel stay.  Brief."  I try to remember this all the time, that life on earth is fleeting and it's the next life that will last forever.  But we do get caught up in what's going on in our lives here, don't we?  We forget all the time that this isn't all there is.  We forget all the time that the purpose of this life is to live it in such a way that it brings us back to God for all eternity.

I'm human, though.  And I do enjoy so many things about my ridiculously blessed life here on planet earth. I love my home here in VA.  I'm trying, as best I can, to make it a reflection of Heaven for my family.  To make it as beautiful, cozy, and inviting as it can be, so that they always feel happy to come and spend time with us here. 

Yesterday, I had glimpses of Heaven when two of our boys and their families came for a little after-Mass lunch gathering, and the nine kids they brought with them spent a few hours playing together (leaving our house a good bit less beautiful than it was when they got here--ha ha!).  

Seriously, though: nothing makes us happier than seeing the grandkids hanging out together in this basement playroom that my husband finished off for them about five years ago.

 

And I didn't get a picture of this, but while the kids were playing downstairs and outside, our daughter-in-law Braveheart snuck away for some quiet time alone in our living room.  Our grown kids often retreat to this room and fall asleep on the couch, right in the middle of noisy family parties.  Our house is a bit too "open concept" for this space that we call the "Rosary Room" to be a true getaway; but it is just separate enough to make you feel like you've escaped the chaos.

When I'm in there, I feel a little closer to Heaven.  Maybe our kids do, too.

I can't remember crying yesterday.  I think I was distracted by getting all the food ready for our visitors, and then filling cups with chocolate milk and ice water, running upstairs to get computer paper from the office for the little artists to draw on, cleaning up spills, snuggling with five-year-old girls who are not only cousins but besties, and...well, you get the picture: it was a busy day, in the best possible way.  And by 9:00, I was falling asleep in my chair, so we went to bed much earlier than we usually do. 

That's the key, I guess: to keep living life to the fullest, but as a pilgrim and not a tourist, always remembering that the home I've made for my family here (however cozy it might be) is not my real home. My mother has completed the pilgrimage, but I'm still on the journey to that real home. I hope I get there.

And if I do, and I hear, "Hi, Pussycat," I'll know she's there already and she's been waiting for me.