From Our House to Yours (From a Safe Social Distance, of Course!)

I feel a coughing fit coming on, but rest assured it isn't being caused by the coronavirus; I'm just choking on the dust here at the old blog, which has been sitting on the shelf, utterly neglected, since March 7.  When I first decided to dip my toes into the then-overcrowded pool of daily bloggers back in March of 2011, I woke up itching to write every morning and could not have conceived of a time when I could go over a month without posting. But nine years later...well, things have changed.

Now there's an understatement for you!

So. Much. Has. Changed.

My last post on March 7 was about something so frivolous, in light of current events: it was about setting my table with my beloved blue-and-white transferware dishes.  (And about how much I love setting said table for big, extended family dinners--remember those?)  At the time, I was meal planning for a Pearl family St. Patrick's Day party at Papa and Grammy's house, with our four grown sons who live nearby and their growing broods.  But then we were told to begin the process of social distancing and were advised to gather in groups of no more than 10.

So a get-together that was going to include 10 adults and 16 young children did not happen; and our St. Patty's extravaganza ended up looking like this (as in corned beef and cabbage for two).

Luckily, that Irishman up there is my favorite human; so if I have to be quarantined inside my home with anyone, at least it's with him.  (He is an essential worker; but since he flies exclusively internationally, all of his flights have been cancelled for over a month now and he's been hanging out with yours truly.)   Things could most definitely be worse.

So, what happened?  (I realize, dear readers, that you know very well what happened; I'm just asking that rhetorical question so I can get the answer written down for my future self with my future old age memory loss, and for posterity.)  In a nutshell: a virus was globally unleashed, the world reacted with unprecedented fear, and one by one, the freedoms granted to Americans in the United States Constitution began to disappear with breakneck speed.  Worst of all: no gathering in churches.  No Mass.  No Eucharist. Lent 2020: it was the Lentiest Lent we ever Lented.  (I can't take credit for that line; I saw it somewhere in my online travels--over on Instagram, I think.)

I am not going to tell you my innermost thoughts on all of this, because that's one surefire way to draw the ire of some.  Lines have been drawn, people are taking sides, neighbors have turned against one another.  I won't get into it except to say that I do believe with all my heart that God can make good come out of bad, and I am holding on to the hope that before too long, life will look normal again.  Maybe God knew we were getting too complacent...I doubt that I will ever take the Mass or the Eucharist for granted again, once this is all over, I can tell you that.

I have not been able to make myself blog about this terrifying and soul-aching era of the coronavirus pandemic, though; at a time when so many people are writing very deep and moving pieces about how this difficult situation has strengthened them in their Faith and reminded them to lean on God and trust in His endless love and mercy, I find I have the most monumental writer's block.  I think this is the reason I've stayed away from my blog throughout this crisis.  I can't really write about it.  I can't.  I've put together a few brief Instagram posts, but just haven't had the heart to go into it too much.  My mind and heart are so full right now, I would find it overwhelming to try to figure out how to put my thoughts into words.

But pictures--they're worth a thousand words.  (Or so I've heard.)  So I thought I'd do a little Lent 2020 photo dump.  Because someday, this crazy season filled with so many crosses that we could have never imagined we'd have to carry will be a faded memory that seems like a bad dream (I hope so anyway!), and I want to remember that it really happened.

So without further ado--

Who will ever be able to forget the great toilet paper shortage of 2020?

(Really?  Toilet paper?  When intestinal distress is not even a symptom of the virus?)

Or how about Mass at home, live-streamed on the television?

We "attended" the 10:00 a.m. Mass at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on the University of Notre Dame campus every Sunday, after our local parish church had to close its doors by order of the governor of VA.  We set up our mantle like an altar, dressed in our Sunday best, and tried to make it as holy an experience as possible.  But it made me tear up each and every week.

And aside from the churches, who could forget all the other closings...

so many closings!

Schools closed for the remainder of the year!  No going to the movies, to sporting events, to restaurants!  In some states, even, no visiting from house to house, even amongst family members... [Insert a shocked face emoji, here, followed by a crying face emoji.]

At least we can still shop for groceries and other essentials.  Masks are encouraged when you're out and about--but of course, like toilet paper, they are a precious and hard-to-find commodity.  To help out until more can be manufactured and distributed, seamstresses are encouraged to make them at home (but good luck finding elastic anywhere!  In a pinch, hairbands will do the trick!).

So here's another Lent 2020/coronavirus memory of mine...

making masks (to donate to local EMT's and nurses, as well as family members who need them for work).

I suppose it's fortunate that we live in the Internet age during this strange era where we are all staying inside our own homes and not able to get together with our loved ones.   I don't think any of us will ever forget

the Zoom happy hours with family!

If you don't laugh, you'll certainly cry...so in times of crisis, sometimes you just have to try to see the humor in things.  One thing there hasn't been a shortage of during this strange time (thank you, Iinternet!) is

funny memes! :)

(That should say masks, not mask; yes, I am the typo police--even when it

comes to humorous Internet memes.)

You know, on that positive note, I think I'll end this post.  But I'll be back soon--maybe even tomorrow--to show you how my husband and I managed to make our Easter special, in spite of having to watch the Mass on TV and being denied the opportunity to receive the Sacrament of the Eucharist.  And I'll also be back to show you what I've been doing lately to help chase away the blues when the weight of the world's problems becomes too oppressive to bear.

Aside from praying, that is!  Because my hubby and I have a busier prayer life than ever these days--the list of prayers we say after our daily Rosary is ever-growing. We have so many perpetual novenas going, among them this one to of all people, St. Corona.

St. Corona--Patron saint of plagues and pandemics.  (!!)

God bless you all with health and peace, until next time (which will hopefully be a lot sooner than a month from now!).

Ashes to Ashes

Yesterday after Mass, my husband and I went to Sam's Club to stock up on some of the items we usually buy in bulk--K-cups for one, as I did NOT give up coffee for Lent (because I am a weak human and I cannot imagine going 4 days without it, much less 40).

The ashes our pastor anointed us with had been mixed with a generous amount of oil, I believe; they went on wet and dried crusty, and they did not fade or wear off one bit during the day.  We both had to scrub them off with soap and water before going to bed last night.  So our ashen crosses were very clearly visible when we went on that shopping trip.

Anyway, there we were, proudly wearing our Catholicism on our faces as we went up and down the aisles (for once not sidetracked by all the tempting sweet and salty snacks and treats we usually find in our cart at checkout time, because LENT).  I actually love Ash Wednesday for that reason: everywhere you go that day, people know at least one thing about you for sure when they see that mark on your forehead: they know you are a Catholic.  They know you are a Catholic and you're not afraid to show it.

I thought we were the only people so marked with ashes in the whole warehouse, but for the most part I didn't feel like we were on the receiving end of too many questioning stares.  Then suddenly we met up with a man coming our way down the aisle, wearing that familiar black cross on his forehead, and he absolutely beamed at us.  He wanted to chat, to know which church we'd gone to for Mass. He was so obviously thrilled to bump into a fellow believer.

This random interaction with a stranger yesterday made me realize how blessed we are to be part of this world-wide Body of Christ: to be trying with all our might to follow in His footsteps, in a world that tells us our beliefs no longer apply to the modern age; and knowing that we are not alone, even when it can often feel like it.  We may not make as much noise as the radical, sometimes violent, revolutionaries at home and abroad who are trying to eradicate all traces of God and His followers, but we are everywhere.  Running into a fellow Catholic in Sam's was a reminder that there are millions and millions of us, all over the world.

I hope that Catholics in America will always be able to wear their Faith visibly, to wander the aisles of Sam's with Ash Wednesday crosses on their foreheads, without being attacked either verbally or physically.  In some countries, our Christian brothers and sisters are being persecuted and even killed for their beliefs.  Thank God and all His angels that so far, we can practice our Faith openly and in peace in the United States.  We must pray that the religious freedom promised to us in our Constitution will survive what might be coming--and I'm not going to get political here, because I don't want to use this blog that way...but there are scary ideas afoot, and they are taking hold.  I just have to keep reminding myself that Our Lady warned us at Fatima that Russia would rise up and spread her errors throughout the world, and that various nations would be annihilated; but She also promised us that in the end, Her Immaculate Heart would triumph. (However, it will take lots and lots of ROSARIES!)  So we must do what we can, but not give in to despair.

Our Lady of Fatima, pray for us!!

Fat Tuesday Chez Pearl and Lenten Sacrifices

I woke up early this morning without an alarm, well before 6:00, and I'm embarrassed to admit that the first thing I did was reach for my iPhone to check my Instagram notifications. There was a reason that I was especially interested in the IG goings-on this morning.  But I'll get to that.

For the past few weeks, I've been trying to decide if I should give up or at least scale back on my Instagram activity for Lent.  I knew it would be a real sacrifice for me and I would miss it.  But I am often positively affected by many of the IG people I follow when it comes to matters of Faith, so I wasn't sure if it was the best Lenten sacrifice to choose.  Well, that wake-up call this morning convinced me that I might be just a wee tad too addicted (I mean, should my first thought upon waking be, "What's happening on Instagram"?!).  So I decided then and there that I am going to limit my time on the site significantly for the next 40 days; I won't give it up completely, but I'll do a sort of intermittent fasting from it.  I'm going to try to stick to allowing myself a daily one-hour window for enjoying any social media--Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, but let's be honest: I spend most of my time on the latter--and when the window opens and closes will be dependent upon whatever else is going on in my life on that particular day.  For instance, my husband and I are going to Mass this morning and then trying to get some projects done around the house; so I'm going to save my hour of screen time for later on this afternoon, when it's time to take a little siesta.

If my boys are reading this (which they probably aren't!), they'll no doubt want to tease me, because it will remind them of that Lent years ago when I didn't give up TV altogether, but gave up watching my favorite show (which was in syndication, so re-runs could be viewed every day), Everybody Loves Raymond; and I didn't give up coffee altogether, but gave up my beloved Dunkin' Donuts road coffees (which I normally ordered at the drive-through window almost daily).  "Wow, Mom, way to go all-out!"  I know, guys, but I am weak--what can I say?

Anyway, on to the reason I was so anxious to get on IG this morning: last night we had our first ever Mardi Gras party.  My husband and I always celebrate Fat Tuesday, mind you.  We always try to eat as much of what we may be giving up for Lent, to feast heartily before we fast; but we've never actually hosted a real celebration.  So of course, just before the stroke of midnight (in case I decided that I was indeed going to give up IG until Easter), I posted some pictures of our grandkids from our little family Fat Tuesday shindig, and I couldn't wait to see who'd seen them and what they'd said.

I mean, the pictures were fun.  The little ones were looking awfully cute in their party gear.

But how weird to realize that the first thing I want to do in the morning is grab my iPhone off my bedside table and log onto Instagram...yikes!

So I'm scaling back--not giving it up completely (because, you know--what the meme says).

It's obvious that I need to make time for other activities that should take priority.  My first thoughts upon waking should be about prayer and daily devotions, not checking to see who among my Instagram friends (many of them only eFriends, not IRL friends) has been in touch!  I need to make more time for prayer, to be sure; and I'd also like to make more time for reading (actual books, not IG feeds!) and for writing.  I'd like to get back to checking in more often here at String of Pearls, even though blogging seems to have gone the way of the dinosaurs.  I've noticed over the past few years that as my Instagram activity has increased, my blogging output has decreased significantly.  And I feel like blogging has been good for my well-being over the past 9 years.  Writing is such a wonderful emotional and intellectual outlet for me.  Playing with words is one of my favorite activities.  So this is where I hope to spend the bulk of my online time for the Lenten season.

Okay then, until next time, God bless you, dear readers!  And whether you've decided to make a small sacrifice or a heroic one to unite yourself to Our Lord and His suffering this Lent, remember: you're not perfect, but you're awesome.

Oh...and would you like to see a few more photos from Fat Tuesday Chez Pearl?   I'm going to assume that would be a yes.  :)

Postscript: We were getting ready to leave for Mass this morning and I saw a text notification from one of our daughters-in-law; so I opened my phone and just out of ingrained habit, I hit the Instagram icon!  Day one, and I already know it's going to be hard.  I exited the site immediately, but reprogramming myself is going to be challenging.  I think it's going to be even harder than giving up desserts, which I'm going to try to do as well.  Please pray for me!!

A Whole New Chapter

Don't let that title fool you--I'm not talking about books here.  It's been a while since I wrote a new chapter for one of those: almost four years, to be exact.  And as much as I'd like to believe I will someday write a sequel to Erin's Ring (a really compelling story I've been kicking around inside my head for several years now), I'm not sure I'll ever get around to it.

No, I'm talking about LIFE--the great big, amazing, surprising, ever-changing, sometimes terrifying, sometimes gloriously perfect, God-written book of life.

This morning, I was passing this photo collage that hangs on the wall in the stairwell of our "new" house in VA.  (I need to put the word "new" in quotes now; because as of March 20, we have been Virginians for a whole year already.)

My boys!  (If you're thinking this is the most adorable quintet of lads you've ever laid eyes on, you're spot on!   #truth.)

I pass this collage of cuteness countless times every day, on my way from the first floor to the second and back down again.  Those precious faces, more dear to me than any others--save the face of the man they call "Dad"--look a lot different these days, to be sure.  Those round-cheeked, soft-skinned little fellas range in age from 25 to 34 now, so you can imagine how much they've changed.  The four oldest of them are married, and have given us 12 grandchildren so far (with two more on the way!).  A number of those grandchildren are older than my baby boys were when these photos were taken.

How does that happen, anyway?  You turn your head for one minute...But I'm here to warn you, it will happen, mamas: your children will grow up.  Meanwhile, you'll feel exactly the same age you were when they were in diapers, so it's a very strange phenomenon.  (You will not look as young as you did when your babies were in diapers, unfortunately...but that's a topic for another day.)

Yes, once upon a time, I was the fresh-faced mother of very small boys.  It was all I'd ever wanted to be, from the time I was a little girl: a full-time wife and mother, a homemaker (and I don't care how antiquated and un-PC that sounds!), taking care my home and family.  All my hopes and dreams were fulfilled, all my prayers answered, when God gave me five sweet sons to raise and a doting and supportive husband who made it possible for me to do it without working outside the home.  God has blessed me so much more than I deserve, and I am constantly reminded that to whom much is given, much is expected.

When our four oldest boys were between the ages of 3 and 7, we moved into a lovely Colonial house on an idyllic acre-plus of wooded property on a quiet cul-de-sac street in NH.  Two years later, we welcomed a fifth son.  This was our home--in every possible definition of the term--for more than 26 years.

But the chicks, they do leave the nest.  As I said before, mamas, this is a fact of life; your babies grow up (the nerve!).  They go to college, they get jobs, they get married, and before you know it, they're buying homes in which to raised their own chicks.  If you're lucky, they stay within striking distance.  But in our case, they moved much too far away to see them on a regular basis without constant traveling.  Long car trips and cross-country flights became the norm.  During the last few years that my husband and I lived in that beloved house in NH, we spent so little time under its roof that we began to wonder why we even owned it.

But God works in mysterious ways, doesn't He?  Who would have thought that three of our boys would end up settling in Northern VA, two within minutes of each other and the other less than two hours away from them?  If we picked a spot somewhere in the middle, we decided, we could see all three easily and our new house could become the perfect gathering spot for their growing families.  But no, we thought; we could never, ever sell our NH house.  It's too full of memories!  We've put too much sweat equity and love into making it the perfect place for us!  Our house is practically a member of the family!  Maybe it doesn't make sense for us anymore, but we could never sell it and move somewhere else.  We just couldn't do that.

Never say never, my friends; because do that we did.

A year ago, we moved to a small Virginia town that we have grown to love.  Our town is surrounded by bucolic rural vistas (Horses!  Cows!), and everywhere we go, we can see the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.  We've joined a new parish run by two of the most holy priests a thirsting Catholic could ever hope for.  (Not that we didn't love our old parish; but liberal thought in the Northeast is so pervasive that even in the parking lot of Catholic churches, you will see bumper stickers promoting pro-abortion political candidates.  Not so here in NOVA, thank the Lord.)

We made this move for our children and grandchildren, of course, and that alone would have been worth it; but it would have been so much harder if we hadn't been as pleased with our new adopted hometown as we are.  I am a manic nester; I burrow in and fill every space with comforting and familiar furnishings and mementos, and after I've feathered my nest, I find change very difficult.  That's why last year, the Lenten season was marked by sadness, stress, and exhaustion: I was dismantling a home that I never thought I'd leave, and all I could see when I looked about me were memories of a long and happy life lived there, surrounded by growing boys.  Getting that house ready to hand over to a new family was, for me, the hardest Lenten sacrifice I could imagine (not to put too dramatic a spin on it!).

After all the framed photos of our boys playing sports, all the pennants and homages to the Red Sox and the Patriots, came

down, the last items to go were our boys' high school football jerseys.  It was sad.  And afterward, my husband could
no longer hang out in this "man cave" he'd built himself, by converting the garage, even though it had been
his favorite place in the house.

As I swept the attic out attic one final time, this is the pile that went into the dust pan: it tells the story of our life in that house, doesn't it?

I think perhaps my attachment to worldly things needed a bit of adjustment, and God saw fit to help me let go of that house for the good of my family. I still feel little waves of sadness and longing sometimes when I look at photos of our family gathered in our old NH house.  But I wouldn't change where we are for all the tea in China.  The move was, to put it simply, the very best thing we could have done--for ourselves, and for our kids and grandkids.

The incredible thing is that not too long after we moved here, our oldest son moved to the area, too, (probably just for a few years, as he begins a new career where he will originally be working out of DC; but we'll take what we can get!).  In fact, while he was in training in another state, his wife and their four girls lived with us for a couple of months, until they were able to find a suitable house to rent.  (They found one, just 17 minutes from us!)

So never fear: just when you think that part of your life is over, that wonderful season of hearing little feet going pitter-pat around the house, this is what will happen.

I am so happy that I kept most of the toys our boys played with when they were young.  They

are being enjoyed all over again!

And just when you think that with your 60th birthday looming on the horizon, the best season of your life is behind you, you'll look in your kitchen breakfast nook and see the new baby paraphernalia you've gone out to buy, because your house is once again often filled with adorable little people.

One of our daughters-in-law made us a sign for Christmas that reads: "Papa and Grammy's House, Where Cousins Become Friends."  If that's what this house will be for our grandkids, then once again I'll say that this move is the very best thing we could have ever done for our family.

I'm going to end this post (which I think of as a celebration of the one year anniversary of living in our new home) with a few pictures from our recent St. Patty's Day celebration--with all four married sons and all 12 grandchildren in attendance.

See those little people in those pictures?  They're just a few of the very good reasons I'm not posting much here at the blog these days.  Being a hands-on Grammy is almost a full-time job.  (I'm "off" today, and taking advantage by blogging this morning, and later on going to Confession and Mass.)  And just like being a SAHM to five little boys, it's a really good gig.

Even if you have to sell your home and move to a new state to get a gig like this, I'm here to tell you that it's very much worth it.