Letting Go (and Dinner for Two)

It's been two months since I posted anything here.  2011 me doesn't even recognize 2024 me!  When this blog was in its infancy, I used to get up pretty much every morning raring to sit down at my laptop and write.  

In March of 2011, when I first decided to dip my toes into the unfamiliar waters of the blogosphere, my life was about to change drastically: my youngest son was getting ready to graduate from high school that June and head off to college after the summer; and my oldest son was three months away from becoming a first-time father to twin girls, making me a first-time Grammy.  I was not technically an empty-nester yet, but I was getting close.  And suddenly, I had more free time than I'd ever had before--so for several years, I blogged almost daily.  But then as, one by one, new daughters were added to our family, and traveling to visit our ever-expanding brood took up so much of our energy, my blog output started to decrease quite a bit.  I loved writing about my family and my life, but I became too busy living it to blog about it as often as I used to do.

In 2017, my husband and I moved away from our "forever home" in New Hampshire, where we had raised our boys, to Virginia, where three of them had settled with their growing families.  So much has changed in the intervening years.  Today, I have five married sons and 22 grandchildren.  Two of our boys live too far away, one in Wisconsin and one in Tennessee; but we feel pretty blessed to have three of them living less than an hour's drive from us.  Life is gloriously busy down here.  We live in a smaller house, with a smaller yard, but I have grown to love our new VA home every bit as much as the NH one we tearfully left behind seven years ago.

As difficult as it was at the time, that move was good for me.  I'd already started having to learn to accept change, to practice detachment, because by then all five of our boys were grown and gone and living their adult lives.  Even our baby was an Army officer stationed in Germany when we made our big move south.  For a person who gets very attached to the things--and the people--she loves, leaving that well-loved house, with all its happy memories, was one of the toughest things I've ever done.  But ultimately, it made my life better!  The blessings we have reaped by living close to so many of our kids and grandkids are countless.  Our 2017 move was one of the best decisions we ever made. 

Just yesterday, I was reading a January 2024 blog post by Elizabeth Foss, and as usual, her writing spoke to me.  Loudly.  She included a quote by Corrie ten Boom (a WWII concentration camp survivor, who'd risked her own life to hide Jews), and when I read it, I knew that God meant for me to see it. "Hold loosely to the things of this life so that if God requires them of you, it will be easy to let them go." And when ten Boom said, "things," she wasn't only talking about material things; she elaborated, "Even your dear family.  Why?  Because the Father may wish to take one of them back to himself, and when he does, it will hurt you if he must pry your fingers loose."

Whoah.  Did I ever need to read those words, to be reminded of the fleeting nature of this life on earth and the need to let go of things, and even of people when the time comes.  It's so easy to say, "Of course!  Yes!  I'm a devout Catholic and I know that this life is short and filled with suffering, and it's the next one, the eternal one with God in Heaven, that matters."  And yet, things here matter to the human heart.  And people; oh, how they matter!  It seems that mothers' hearts break on a daily basis.  Just having a child grow up, leave home, and start his adult life somewhere far from you can do it--even though that's the goal: giving your children wings and then watching them fly away.

I loved it when all of our boys were little, living under our roof.  I loved it when they were gathered around our table for every meal.  I think I'm in need of a short trip down Memory Lane, so bear with me while I share some pictures of those good old days.  (And also, if you're a young mom, remind yourself how lucky you are to have the awesome digital photography of the 21st century always at your fingertips, instead of the grainy, poorly lighted snapshots moms my age have of our kids--ones we had to wait a couple of weeks to see, not even knowing how they'd turned out!)

Those boys: they are my life!  Hang on a minute...I need a tissue.

Okay, I'm back.  

Listen, the last thing I want to do is sound all maudlin and "woe is me."  I'm just feeling nostalgic is all.   And the years seem to be going by too quickly for me these days, the changes coming at me rapid-fire.   At 65, I know that the road of life behind me is much longer than the one ahead, and it makes me think about all the things I love in this world.  

But I would be lying if I said that feeding a passel of little boys was always a complete joy.  We had two in particular who were mighty picky eaters.  When they used to ask, "What's for dinner?", I would put them off with, "I don't know..." or "I don't want to talk about it right now..."  If we ever got through a healthy home-cooked dinner with clean plates and no complaining, I used to feel like I was on a high.  They all loved my baking, so dessert was usually successful; but the main dish was hit-or-miss with some of them.  I wasn't the greatest cook, to be honest (it's hard to get excited to cook when you're not sure people will eat what you make).  I could whip up basic "comfort foods," like beef stew, lasagna, shepherd's pie.  But I wasn't very adventurous with my cooking.

That's one nice part about being an old lady like me: you miss your kids being gathered around your table (picky eaters notwithstanding); but if you made the right choice in a husband, and he's your favorite person to hang out with, dinner for two can really be a joy.  And it's fun to try new delicious dishes together.

This past week, my husband and I had two meals in a row that I thought were so yummy, simple but elegant--and I would never have made them to serve our boys when they were little.  We ate these meals on trays in the family room while we watched Matt Walsh's show together, pushing pause every now and then to chat.  I thought my plate looked so appetizing both nights that I snapped pictures.  And now I'm going to share them--lucky you!

On Monday, we had baked potatoes and roasted prosciutto-wrapped asparagus (with parmesan cheese and bits of French fried onions on top).  It was so good!

On Tuesday, we had filet mignon, cooked by my husband on the grill and topped with sautéed mushrooms, and green salads (his was a bit more elaborate than mine).  I also had some plain yogurt with fruit and granola, in lieu of dessert. Because it's Lent.  (I know some of you probably think I cheated because that sounds like a dessert; but in my book, if it doesn't include chocolate or caramel or icing, and it isn't a cookie or a brownie or a cake, it is most definitely not a dessert.)

There is so much to let go of as you get older.  But there is also much to look forward to.  Every night that my husband and I are at home eating our dinner together, it feels like a date.  That's not too bad a way to live, is it?  Sure, sometimes we miss those bygone years when we always had our boys with us, when we saw them every single day; but they are all thriving at the moment, praise God.  And we are so, SO happy to have each other.

Full disclosure: I took those Corrie ten Boom quotes to heart, and I want to live my life holding onto things loosely; but when it comes to my husband, my grip is probably a bit too tight.  I'll be working on that, but I can't promise I'll get good at it!  In the meantime, I hope there are lots of dinner dates in our future.

43 Years

On this date in 1980,  I made the best decision of my life and married the man who’d become my forever boyfriend when we were both only 15.  We were 22 on our wedding day, which seems incredibly young to me now that all of our children are 30 and older.

In the months preceding our big day, someone told me that having a Christmas wedding was unfair to our families and guests, that it would add stress to and take away joy from their holiday season. 

I hope that wasn’t true (and why would anyone say that to a bride-to-be?!  😳).  But as far as I’m concerned, I can’t think of a more beautiful time of year to get married.

Happy Anniversary, [insert private term of endearment here].  I love you more today than I did in 1980…and that’s saying a lot!

Unsolicited Advice about Marriage

My husband and I are celebrating 42 years of wedded bliss today, so I thought it was a good day to talk about marriage.

The last thing I would ever deign to claim is that I'm an "expert" on anything--even on those vocations to which I've dedicated the majority of my 64-plus years on earth: wife, mother, and homemaker.  I don't pretend to have all the answers, and the last thing I would ever dare to do is give someone unsolicited advice about how to be happy and successful in those areas.

From summer 2016, taken in the yard at Oyster Haven.

I certainly don't know it all.  But as far as marriage goes, I just know what works for my husband and me.  We tied the knot on this date in 1980, and ever since we've enjoyed an extraordinarily happy marriage, with lots of crests and very few troughs; and although we sometimes disagree and might occasionally get a tad too impatient or grumpy when dealing with each other, we have never had a shouting match.  When I say never, I mean NEVER; no screaming and yelling, no throwing plates at each other (does that really ever happen, or is that just in the movies?), no storming away from each other with a slam of the door.  We don’t really even raise our voices at each other--that's just not the way we roll at all.

I believe that the secret to our happy marriage comes down to two simple sentences that my husband and I have uttered countless times over the years.

Me: "You're my hero."

Him: "That's all I've ever wanted to be."

Our words might come off as sappy and saccharine, and not at all serious, to the casual observer (and our funny boys will pretend to vomit if they hear them, because that's how they roll); but we are absolutely sincere when we say them.  He is my hero; he has spent our whole life together striving to be just that.  And I try to let him know how much I appreciate all that he does for me and our family, as often as I can.

We choose to look for only the good in each other, while accepting the flaws (because we all have them, don’t we?); we appreciate the gifts and strengths each of us brings to our union, instead of wasting time criticizing each other’s weaknesses.  We don’t comment on each other’s idiosyncrasies or try to change each other and then get frustrated when we realize we can’t.  We accept each other, and truly like each other.  We “get” each other, and we make each other laugh.  Every day, we try to honor those sacred vows we made back in 1980.  Good times and bad.  Sickness and health.  Richer or poorer.  Til death do us part.  

And every day, in little and big ways, my guy is my hero.

I’m convinced that if more men wanted to be heroes in their wives’ eyes, and more wives appreciated their efforts to do so, there would be a lot fewer divorces.  But maybe that’s just me.

You know, I'm not the best at giving advice.  I can't always find the right words to express what I'm thinking.   But this post by Leila Marie Lawler, over at Like Mother, Like Daughter is a must-read on the subject of marriage and understanding husbands and their unique role in the family.  It is so beautifully written, and gives such tremendously accurate advice on how to be happy in your marriage.  (Adopt the "I'd rather be happy than right" philosophy; it's liberating and leads to peace and contentment!)

Another insightful piece I read on the subject of marriage comes from one of my favorite Catholic writers (and one of the Instagram voices I miss most since deleting my account), Elizabeth Foss, who has a regular column in the Arlington Catholic Herald (our diocesan newspaper in VA).  An article that appeared there in August 2022 was titled, "Marry young?"  This part in particular struck me as profoundly true, and important to remember in this "let's put off marriage (but not necessarily living together) until everything is perfect" world we live in: "The world tells young couples to get all their ducks in a row, to delay until they are secure.  Life has taught me that the ducks never line up neatly and that security is only in faith, never in the tangible, touchable things of this world.  The most seemingly secure job one day can be over the next day.  The healthiest spouse on your wedding day can be battling cancer on your second anniversary.  I lived that story.  You don't get to write the script.  God does.  It's your job to improv along.  Who do you want to do that with and why are you waiting to get started?  Do you doubt that God will give you sufficient grace to do life together within the covenant of a sacramental marriage?  Are you putting limits on what God can do in favor of the security you think the world can offer?"

I'm so glad that my husband and I figured out when we were very young that we wanted to do life--improvising as we went along--together, and that we wanted to get started doing so as soon as we possibly could.  I realize that not everyone is lucky enough to meet the person with whom they will spend their life at 15, and then to be married at 22. But no matter what age you are, when you do meet that right person, don't wait until everything is “perfect” to begin your married life together.  It never will be perfect, for this earthly life is not paradise by a long shot, it’s the proverbial valley of tears; but at least if you take that leap of faith you'll have a partner to share whatever burdens you must carry here.  The main purpose of marriage is to help each other get to Heaven, and things that are really worth doing (and what it more worth doing than that?!) are never easy. 

But it doesn't have to be so hard if you take this unsolicited that advice I said I'd never give (you've been warned!): ladies, marry someone who wants to be your hero. And then make him feel like one. 

In Rome, spring 2019 (an early 40th anniversary trip!  Thank
goodness we thought to take it before the world shut down!).

At Notre Dame, his alma mater, in 2018.

41 Years and Going Strong!

Forty-one years ago today, my husband and I were married on a bitter cold day in our hometown in Upstate NY, at his family's parish church (which was the one connected to the Catholic high school where we met as freshmen in 1972). We had begun dating at 15, in the summer of 1973, and were married seven years later.  We got engaged in December of 1979 while seniors in college, and chose to get married two days after Christmas the following year.  My husband was going to be starting flight school in the Navy shortly after graduation, and that was pretty much the only time he knew he would be able to get enough days off in a row to get married.

Some people told me that it was a bit selfish to put our families through a wedding during the busy holiday season, but it was either that or wait another whole year or more until he earned his wings.  At that point, we felt like we'd waited long enough to finally start our life together!  And I have to say, a Christmas wedding is so incredibly lovely.  The church is so beautifully decorated already that you don't have to spend a penny on flowers.  Our church was blooming with a profusion of poinsettias and bedecked with garlands of greenery. Wreaths were hung on every pillar, and right  behind us when we had our photos taken on the altar there was a glorious Nativity set.  I can't imagine a more perfect setting, personally, for getting married. 

Or a more perfect partner with whom to go through life. He is my rock.  He is my hero.  And I know that God chose him just for me.

Recently, I found a collage in my Google photos.  It had been made up with pictures of my guy and me without any input on my part.  The top middle photo is from one of my sisters-in-law's weddings in 1993; the rest are more recent, from the past five years or so.  There are a couple taken by our beloved lake in NY, a couple taken on trips to Rome, one in the stands at a Notre Dame football game, and a few from holiday celebrations. This collage managed to include some true highlights of our life together.   (I'm surprised, however, that Google only chose one with us holding a baby grandchild!)  I might have chosen other pictures if I'd made this collage myself, but I thought it was nice and would make a good anniversary tribute.

The Baltimore Catechism describes the purposes of marriage thus:

(1) To enable the husband and wife to aid each other in securing the salvation of their souls;

(2) To propagate or keep up the existence of the human race by bringing children into the world to serve God;

(3) To prevent sins against the holy virtue of purity by faithfully obeying the laws of the marriage state

What a gift a good marriage is.  As I said, I can't think of a better marriage partner (or a better father for my sons) than the guy I married.  If I do make it to Heaven, he will have most definitely helped me to get there. What an example he has been for me!  I can only hope that by the time my life here is over, I will have learned to live out my Faith with the kind of purpose and passion that he does.

Forty-one years in, and our family has grown by leaps and bounds.  Just a portion of us were together on Christmas Day, and look at how many dear souls are in this picture!  

That day, we had only 13 of our 17 grandchildren with us (Peanut, one of the triplets, escaped before the photo was taken, so if you count them up you'll only find 12!).

But the two soon-to-be-born grandchildren were also there.  Here are my sweet girls who are expecting in 2022, one in February and the other in April.

That 22-year-old bride in the first picture up there could never have imagined how big and beautiful her family would become. All I can say is IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE (my favorite Christmas movie, BTW).  And it all got started on this date in 1980.

Blessed

I was at the sink washing dishes one night last week, and suddenly I was struck by the most intense feelings—of gratitude for the many blessings in my life, and of joy for the privilege of being alive and having so, so many people to love. These emotions were triggered by the simple tableau right before my eyes on the kitchen counter: gorgeous blooming roses, given to me as a hostess gift from my daughter-in-law Braveheart's mother on Easter, when she joined us here for brunch; and nearby, a candy dish filled with chocolates, because we were still in celebration mode in this house, at least until the end of the octave of Easter.  (We're still in celebration mode!)

But it was more than just those two items that stirred my soul.  It was what I could see beyond the blooms, adorning the walls of our family room: family photos, many of them of our five boys in various stages of growth (five of the most lovable people in the universe, and that's no exaggeration); a poster-sized enlargement of a photo I took of the Pantheon in Rome, when my husband and I were there on a once-in-a-lifetime trip almost exactly two years ago, staying in a tiny apartment just around the corner from that iconic building; a small replica of the Pieta resting on the ledge of the transom window, a group gift from my sons for Mother's Day many years back; and two signs that were gifts from son #3 and his wife to reflect the reasons we relocated to this VA house four years ago, one that reads "Papa and Grammy's House, Where Cousins Become Friends" and another that says "Our Greatest Blessings" and has pictures of our boys and their families hanging from it, as if on a little clothesline.  From my vantage point at the sink, I could also see my husband's navy blue leather recliner, a gift I gave him for his 50th birthday in 2008; it's the chair he sits in when we watch a show or movie together, and when we pray our daily Rosaries and novenas.  (Okay, full disclosure: it's also where he sits to eat his dinner most nights, with a tray on his lap, while I eat mine in my comfy armchair on the other side of the room.  Yes, we are those old people you swear you'll never become!)

Every single item I looked at gave me pleasure. Everything I saw warmed my heart.

There are less pieces of religious artwork in this room than in most of the other rooms of the house, and yet I was seeing God everywhere I looked.

And I thought to myself, "God, why have you given me so much, when so many have so little?  What can I do to deserve this?"  Of course I realize that no one "deserves" anything, and sometimes the best souls have to endure the worst deprivations and trials.  But still...I did ask Him anyway.  And I think He gave the answer I knew already: to whom much has been given, much will be required. (Luke 12:48)  So I've got some work to do!  

I really don't know why I've been fortunate enough to live the life I've lived—the very life I dreamed about when I was a little girl. I have a husband who loves me as Christ loves His Church and gave Himself up for Her, as St. Paul instructed all good husbands to do. I've been a mother to five sons whom I adore, and now I'm a grandmother to the most eclectic and adorable assemblage of little people on God's green earth, 17 of them here with us (so far!) and five in Heaven.  Blessed. That's what I am.  So blessed.

My whole life has revolved around what was going on at home, and I have never felt like my triple vocation of wife, mother, and homemaker was not “enough.”  It was enough and then some.  I always felt privileged that I was able to focus my energies on the needs of my family (especially since I'm just not as good at juggling lots of balls at once as some people are), and I will be eternally grateful to my husband for making it possible for me to do so.

I believe it's part of the Theology of Home philosophy that your home, your domestic Church, should be a reflection of what is most important to your family, and that it should provide an oasis of peace and tranquility for its members—even when the whole world outside your door seems to be in chaos and turmoil.  Home has always been an oasis for me, no matter where we've lived;  I can only hope that it was the same for our boys when they were growing up and sleeping every night under our roof.  I hope they felt safe, cherished, and as happy as it is possible to be in this imperfect life on earth.

I stood there at the sink, deep in thought, looking like I was wasting time staring out over that counter at our family room; but really, I was doing the very important work of trying to unlock all the mysteries of the universe—and specifically, trying to understand how God would like me to spend the years I have left in my life, for His greater glory and the good of my own soul.

And all of these deep thoughts were inspired by a vase filled with roses sitting next to a bunny dish filled with chocolates!

Inspired to Blog Again

This summer, I have decided to rededicate myself to this blog!  I don't know why I felt the need to make that a bold exclamation rather than a simple statement--because trust me, I really don't expect anyone out there in Internetland to be as excited about this not-very-newsworthy development as I am.

But I AM excited, because I miss being here.

I have spent the last few years using Instagram as my main social media fix, writing easy-to-digest blurbs and hashtags on my iPhone to go with carefully selected and filtered pictures...and while it's been fun and interesting in its own way, I have begun to realize that it's not all that good for me, and that I miss actually sitting down at my laptop every day and really writing.

If you follow Jenny Uebbing’s Mama Needs Coffee blog (isn't she the best?), you might have read her recent post titled "He Is Doing a New Thing,"  in which she talks about ditching her other social media accounts and getting back to her first love, blogging (and also working on another writing project about which she is being somewhat cryptic, but which sounds like a book).  What she had to say in this post struck a chord with me.

Uebbing writes, "when I am on Instagram, I literally see life differently. I’ll squint at a funny or terrible toddler episode through a critical eye and consider 'is this good content?' before snapping a picture and freezing a moment and sort of stepping back from the present moment like I’m the creative director or producer of my own life.

When I am the producer of my own life, I am not actually in it, moment by moment. I’m thinking of getting the shot, of capturing the quote. I’m thinking of you guys, of an audience out there, waiting and willing to consume the funny or thoughtful or entertaining content I’m blasting out into the world. And there isn’t anything wrong with that at first glance, right? Except that, for me, it’s constant. It’s not like a well-planned and carefully policed time limit where I indulge in harmless good fun for a set number of minutes a day and then put the phone away, it’s constant.

Is it possible to become addicted to hearing your own voice? That’s how instagram makes me feel."

Yikes, I thought when I read that, I too may have a bit of a problem...

Uebbing also said, "I feel so incredibly convicted that the very nature of the game: the algorithm, the endless dopamine feedback loop, the social positioning and posturing and signaling, is not just benign wasted time, but is actually bad for us."

Okay, it's clear that I do have a problem--and maybe it's time for me to scale back drastically on Instagram, if not completely.  That "dopamine feedback loop" Uebbing references--that high you get when someone likes one of your IG posts (especially someone well-known, an "influencer" whom you admire, with a platform that has thousands of followers)--is addictive.  For most of the years that I've been a blogger, I wrote because I was inspired to and because I loved the process itself, and I seriously never even thought about who would see a particular post, or who would like it; but with Instagram, the insta-gratifiction of all those likes is dangerously seductive. I have craved those Instagram interactions more than I should over the past three years, since our big move to VA from our longtime home in NH. While the pluses of having four out of our five married sons--and all 16 of our grandkids!--close by are countless, as are the blessings, as a shy and introverted sort I have not really made any non-family friends yet in our new hometown.  So I think I've been using my Instagram friendships as a sort of lifeline.  But the fact that I will meet few if any of the people with whom I've become friendly on the site makes it seem a little pathetic that I've been spending so much time there.

So back to the blog it is!  I do this mostly because I love to play with words, to rearrange them and edit them until they sound just the way I want them to.  Sometimes I have something deep and meaningful to say, but more often I'm just here jotting down family memories so that they'll live on for our kids and grandkids long after we're gone.

I decided to clean up my sidebar and make it less crowded with links to products that I endorsed years ago.  I also decided to change my photo.  The one I've been using for ages was taken in 2012, about a year after I started this blog, and I don't look quite that young anymore.  Back then, I had just published my first novel, Finding Grace, and I wanted to look like a writer, so I posed sitting in front of my laptop at my dining room table and my husband good-naturedly took this picture.

Back then, I was 54 and had one married son and wee twin granddaughters.  Oh boy, how things have changed.

This is more how I look now--especially since I have a baby on my lap, which is a near-constant state of affairs (lucky me)!  I'm more of a hands-on Grammy than a writer these days. (This darling little girl is the youngest of our middle son's four children; she's also the youngest of our 16-going-on-17 grandchildren--the latest gem on our ever-lengthening string of Pearls.)

Next month I'll turn 62.  Gulp!  My husband turned 62 today, and I said, "Yikes!  In 8 years, we'll be 70."  I can't wrap my brain around 60, so 70 is going to be beyond weird.  But little people like the one lounging sleepily on my lap in that picture make growing old a lot less painful for both of us.

As far as updating my photo, I decided to choose one where I'm wearing a string of pearls (it seemed apropos).  It is actually cropped from a selfie my husband and I took this Easter, when we got all dressed up in our Sunday best to live-stream Mass at home on TV.  (By next Easter, I hope this quarantine/lockdown era will be a hazy memory.)

Anyway--

Happy Birthday to that handsome guy there, the one I fell in love with in 1973, and the one with whom I'll celebrate 40 years of marriage this December.  It's been a great ride so far, and I wouldn't want to be on it with anyone but him.  (Also, I know he will be happier than anyone that I'm going to try to blog regularly again, because he is my most ardent follower and biggest fan, and he is not biased in the least!)

Ciao for now!

Mary's Beauty is the Standard

A few weeks ago, I accompanied my husband on a four-day working trip to Rome.  We flew (or rather he flew, I rode) over on Sunday, January 19, had the 20th and the 21st to explore bella Roma, and then we made the return trip across the Atlantic on the Wednesday the 22nd.  It was a wonderful whirlwind trip, and I suppose I should have blogged about it. But like just about every other blogger under the sun, these days I seem to spend more time over on Instagram than I do here.  (Mea culpa!  But it's just so easy posting something quickly on my phone, no matter where I might be at the time, rather than finding an opportunity to sit in the office at my laptop.  That must be why so many others have made the transition from blogger to 'grammer.)

But just when I thought it might be time to close up shop at String of Pearls, a funny thing happened: a few days ago, I was talking to one of my daughters-in-law about how I never make the time to blog anymore, saying that I was pretty sure no one is missing my blogging presence, and she surprised me by saying that she checks all the time to see if I've posted something new.  I hate to let any of my girls down--so thanks for the motivation, Preciosa.  This one's for you.

Anyway, I'm not going to post pictures from that short but very sweet recent trip here right now (you can see those if you visit my Instagram page, by clicking on the icon over on the sidebar there); well, actually that's not completely true, because I am going to post just one.

The night we got back from Rome, we said our daily Rosary and other novena prayers in our living room (fondly nicknamed "the Rosary Room"), and then we sat on the couch and talked for a while, reminiscing about our little Roman holiday.  My husband started scrolling through his iPhone pictures from the trip, stopping at one to show me and say, "I love this picture.  Now that's a beautiful face."

I looked over to see which picture he was talking about.  "THAT one?" I said, incredulous.  "You actually like that picture?"

"I love it.  You don't?" he said, equally incredulous.

"NO!"  (I might have grimaced.)

"You're nuts," he replied.

I'd asked him to take this picture during our al fresco dinner at a restaurant in the Piazza Navona, after I'd taken one of his handsome mug as he sat across the table from me.  When he'd shown it to me right after he snapped it, my immediate reaction was a silent, "Ugh!  Why am I so unphotogenic?  No filter can fix that one!"  I ticked off the flaws: too-squinty eyes, too-fat cheeks, too-limp and scraggly hair--and too-big glasses.  If only I could have the big wide-set eyes (20/20 vision eyes, without bags under them!), sculpted cheekbones, and voluminous hair of a supermodel, THEN maybe I could see myself as beautiful--in his eyes or anyone's.   So it truly astounded me that he could look at this photo and see beauty there.

This was not a healthy reaction, I realize; why would I want a different face than the one my husband loves?  Why would I think he would want a different--a "better"--face?  I was playing that dangerous comparison game--you know, the one you always lose, because we all know (or should know) that Teddy Roosevelt was absolutely right when he famously said, "Comparison is the thief of joy."

But it can be a struggle sometimes, because we women do long to be seen as beautiful; as Carrie Gress says in The Anti-Mary Exposed (which should be essential reading for all women, I believe!), "The desire to be beautiful is deeply embedded in a woman's soul...Even the smallest girl will tell you she wants to be as beautiful as a princess.  This isn't cultural conditioning; it is something universal that sits squarely in the feminine heart."

The trouble is that the world bombards us constantly with images of feminine beauty that few earthly mortals will ever have, images that focus on the merely physical.  So we get stressed out about our weight, we spend too much on cosmetics, we bemoan the appearance of gray hairs and wrinkles. We all give lip service to the idea that "inner beauty is what counts," but then judge ourselves harshly when our outward beauty doesn't live up to accepted (and mostly unattainable) standards.  Gress points out that every visionary throughout history who has had the privilege of seeing the Blessed Mother has reported that She was "the most beautiful woman he or she had ever seen."  But it's essential to understand why She was so beautiful: "Mary's beauty is important because it is the outward expression of her complete perfection emanating from God's beauty."  We can never be as beautiful as Mary, who was conceived without sin; but we can strive to be as much like Mary as humanly possible.  She sets the standard.

My husband loves my face--because he loves ME, all of me (even when I'm occasionally nuts), and he sees glimpses (infinitesimal ones, but glimpses nonetheless) of God's beauty emanating from it. So it is with God; this kind of unconditional love from my husband is a reflection of the Father's love for me, for all of us.  Despite our sins.  Despite our flaws and failings.  He loves us, body and soul, and wants us for His own. He made me exactly the way He wanted me to be, with these eyes, these cheeks, this hair, but most importantly, this soul.  I am an unrepeatable soul, with inestimable worth, God's very own beloved child.  Whenever I cringe at a photo of myself, I need to remember that in His eyes, I am beautiful. This, then, is the reason my husband sees beauty where I see only physical flaws and features I would make more "perfect" if I could.  He sees his loving wife of 39 years, with whom he shares a sacramental bond that will hopefully help us both become saints; he sees the devoted mother of his five sons, the five precious souls God entrusted to our care; he sees the doting Grammy of the 16 grandchildren he absolutely adores; he sees the woman he is growing old with and whose presence--incredibly--he never seems to tire of.

I will probably never think that this photo from our Rome trip is particularly flattering.  But I’ll always be grateful for the guy who took it and the way he loves me.

I have a lot more to say about that sneaky thief of joy and the way social media has made it almost impossible not to succumb to the temptation to compare ourselves to others, but this post has gone on long enough.  So perhaps I will be back tomorrow--or if not tomorrow, very soon!  (Keep checking, Preciosa!)

Mother of the Groom Outfit (My Last Hurrah)

The youngest of our five sons--and the only one who is still single--is getting married in less than three weeks.  At 26, he is more than ready to take this next big step in his life; but sometimes, his big brothers (who are between 5 and 9 years older than he) forget that he is no longer the baby brother obsessed first with all things Lion King and then with all things Jurassic Park.

Wait a minute...he is still slightly obsessed with both of those movies, and with movies in general (see his blog for proof of this).  But I digress.

I have had my dress since not too long after he and his fiancée, now known here at String of Pearls as Babisiu, became engaged in March.

You would think that on my fifth go-around, I would be an old pro at picking mother of the groom attire, and I'm not. But at least I've gotten past worrying too much about what I wear, knowing how little it really matters when you think about the monumentally important reason for the day: the sacramental union of two souls, whose whole purpose from that day forth is to help each other get to heaven.  When you think of it that way, dresses are pretty unimportant.

But dresses are fun, and nothing feels better than making a choice early on, with the plan that you will lose those stubborn 10-15 pounds you've gained in the past few years so that the dress will fall just so and look amazing; and then even when you haven't been able to make the desired weight loss happen, knowing that you've chosen a dress that will fit you anyway, and is cut in a way that is kind of magically forgiving of your many perceived flaws.  (And also, nothing feels better, more confidence-building, than modeling a dress for your husband and having him tell you that he really, really likes it!)

I have not tried on my dress since June, so I hope I still feel good about it when we get back to VA after our summer away and I try it on again.  (Fingers crossed!)  I did not spend my summer dieting and working out; I spent it having crackers and cheese at cocktail hour, out on the boat with my husband.  (It's been "the Summer of Us," remember?)  I've spent it enjoying delicious meals with him, sometimes followed by delicious desserts.  I don't want to regret anything about this summer, which has been as close to perfect as a summer can be; so I hope that when I see the pictures of the wedding, I don't stress out about the double chin that appears if I don't hold my head up high enough, or the cheeks that are so much rounder than I wish they were.  I hope that all I see is the joy of a mom who has watched the youngest of her five boys make the most important commitment he will ever make, having chosen a young lady who values her Faith as much as he does with whom to share his journey through life--and therefore, having followed in the footsteps of the four older brothers he admired so much growing up.

Anyhoo--

Would you like to see the dress?  (Side note: this is not me modeling it, although I certainly wish it was!)

Less than $60 on Amazon.  You can't beat that price!

I fashioned a special necklace to wear with my dress by taking apart a faux pearl necklace passed on to me by my mom when she had to sell her house and cull through her enormous collection of costume jewelry in order to downsize.  When I restrung the pearls, I added some sparkly beads and a Miraculous Medal in the center (because I like to wear this sacramental always, but I also like to wear pearls for significant Pearl occasions).

I recently bought some mousse (for the first time ever), a curling iron, and some hair spray, and I started experimenting, hoping to come up with a better way to wear my hair for the big occasion.  But in my 61 years of being a female on this planet, I have never mastered the art of hair styling.  So I've decided to just do the usual--straight hair held back with a headband--but I'm taking the advice of my baby sister and making the headband a blingy one.  I got a navy blue satin one and glued on a whole bunch of sparkly gems, and I think this headband will be just the touch of bling I need to add a little pizazz to my usual hair-do.

Wearing that medal around my neck, with a picture of the best Mother of all time on it, I hope to forget any hair or wardrobe cares and feel nothing but peace and happiness and joy throughout the festivities.  And I think that's just what I'm going to feel.

The Summer of Us! (A Photo Dump)

My husband and I have been in our old hometown in Upstate NY since the beginning of July, managing our Oyster Haven VRBO rental home, visiting with family and friends still living in the area...and having a grand old time, enjoying what we have dubbed "The Summer of Us" (and if you ever were a fan of the series Seinfeld, you might know where we got the inspiration for that title).

Fulfilling a lifelong dream of his, my hubby had splurged on his first real expensive "toy" in the spring: a 20-foot pontoon boat.  So life has been good here on Lake Champlain, dear readers; it has been very good indeed.   We miss our kids and grandkids down in VA, but we really, really like each other--so we are surviving.  Actually, we're thriving, and this has been a very special summer for us.

My better half was on vacation for the month of July, so it was almost hedonistically relaxing and rejuvenating for us.  (There was a big, wild-and-crazy Pearl family reunion over the 4th, and I never got around to blogging about that extravaganza.  But I put up a few posts about it over on Instagram.)

We went out on the boat every day that the weather permitted (which turned out to be just about every day); we had cocktail hour cruises routinely; we recited our daily Rosary and novena prayers while floating in the quiet waters on the shores of the nearby islands; and we even got up before the crack of dawn one day to watch the sun rise over the lake.

One day, we drove the boat about 45 minutes to my baby sister's lakeside home, and we picked her up along with her husband and my mom, then headed out on the water to enjoy a mini dinner cruise.

It has definitely been a summer to remember!  

I adore my all my boys and their wives, and don't even get me started on my grandchildren!  But this guy has always been and will always be my #1.  

The Summer of Us.  I will never forget it!

August brought us back to the real world a bit: my guy has already had to fly two trips this month--but luckily, his airline job allows him to commute from anywhere (within reason), and although I don't have the guts to take the big boat out by myself, I've kept the home fires burning here at the Pearl homestead.  I've even managed to get out for a couple of kayak rides.

Heaven, isn't it?

And now we're sharing it with some of our brood: as of almost a week ago, it is no longer just us.  Our oldest son, his wife, and his five children are here for about a two-week visit, staying with us in my husband's childhood home (because our Oyster Haven house is being rented right now).  Our boys' four girls, aged 4 through 8, are playing every day at the neighborhood beach two doors down where my husband and his siblings used to play.  It has been a joy to see them falling in love with this lake.  (One of the twins exclaimed one day, "This is the life!")

I want to share scenes of the goings-on here lately, but I've posted enough pictures for one day; so I'll be back with pictures from "The Summer of Us and Them."

The Future Mrs. Pearl

In my  post yesterday, I mentioned that my husband and I had flown out to Detroit to meet up with our youngest son and his girlfriend, and hinted that maybe there was more to that story than just a simple visit...well, that's because it was not exactly a run-of-the-mill weekend.   At all.

Our boy, who is currently stationed in OK, was flying out to MI to meet up with his girlfriend of more than two years, who currently lives in St. Louis (and whom he met on CatholicMatch.com, the "family website" as we like to call it), at her sister's place in the Ann Arbor area.  TO PROPOSE!   He figured he could play the whole "we're just getting together for a fun St. Patty's Day weekend with your sister in a crazy college town" angle, and he might be able to take her by surprise.  He wanted his dad and me to fly out there, and her folks to drive there, too, from their home about four hours away, so that both sets of parents could be present to witness the big moment...

I might as well let these pictures do the talking for me!

With my newest girl.

We love her already!

Check out that rock!

The two sets of parents were told to meet under the marquee of an historic old downtown theater, and to be there out front waiting when our son, his girlfriend, his girlfriend's sister, and one of her good friends came out of the restaurant across the street where they'd just had lunch together.

The surprise worked--she really didn't know this was going to be the day--even though she has been semi-expecting it every time they've gotten together since he returned stateside from his three-year stint in Germany.  (The amazing thing is that it went off without a hitch, in spite of several people--myself included--almost totally giving it away ahead of time!  There's another story for you...but I don't want to get into that here in this happy post!)

My daughter-in-law Ginger asked us yesterday if that theater had any special significance; the answer is not really and sort of.  Our son and his future sister-in-law were just trying to pick a landmark that would be easy for the two sets of parents to find, in a city where she hadn't been living that long and that he didn't know at all.  But I love that that's where it happened, because he is one of the most enthusiastic movie buffs of all time. (There is a link to his blog, The Layman's Movie Corner, up there on the sidebar if you want to check it out and see what I mean!)

The neat thing about having it happen on a busy downtown street was that right as our boy got down on his knee, a passing car honked its horn like crazy.  It was so fun!

Another plus was that the bride-to-be's good friend is a professional photographer, so she took lots of great shots while it was happening.  And then she made this wonderful image using photoshop.

Our daughter-in-law Preciosa made the happy couple a framed sign commemorating the event, using an Etsy download, which they held up for many of the photos.  She also designed and crafted two special t-shirts for her future sister-in-law.  Here's my favorite.

So the Pearl boys are four for four with Catholic Match. That's quite a success rate, isn't it?  (And the fifth couple, son #2 and Ginger, met when they were both members of the wedding party of son #3 and Preciosa!  So that's practically five for five?)

When we sent out the word on the family text stream that includes all the boys and their spouses--saying "They're engaged!"--this is the reply we got from son #4.

I love my boys!  They make me seriously LOL on the daily.  They tease each other mercilessly (it is their "love language," if you will), and I think our baby might even have been slightly disappointed if his big news hadn't elicited at least a few ridiculous comments like this one from his older brothers.

I don't know if my heart can take all the excitement!  First this beautiful proposal on Saturday--seeing our baby boy happier than he has ever been and imagining the beautiful life ahead of him with his Babisiu (that's her blog handle, I think); and then almost immediately afterward, a long-awaited trip to Rome!  (We leave tomorrow!)   I feel like I'm living la bella vita, truly I do.

I will be sure to share pictures of our Italian adventure when I can.  In the meantime--

Dio ti benedica.