It's a Wonderful Life (Truly It Is!)

What a beautiful time of year this is!  I love it so much.

Last week, we went to some of our grandkids' Christmas concerts; one night, it was our 3rd grade grandson G-Man's show at his Catholic school; the next night, we got to watch five of our grandchildren performing together: two of G-Man's younger sisters, who are in 2nd grade and kindergarten, and our triplet grandchildren (also in kindergarten, two siblings in one class together and the other with his cousin); and finally, the next day, we watched two of our granddaughters, younger siblings of the aforementioned kids (4-year-old cousins who are BFF's and classmates), perform in their pre-K concert at their Christian preschool.  It was a busy week!  It is so special that these cousins are schoolmates/classmates.  It is a joy to their Papa and me to see them experiencing all of this together.

My husband and I also squeezed in a movie date over the weekend and went to see The Shift, a new film out by Angel Studios (they also did The Sound of Freedom).  It is just SO GOOD, we highly recommend it!  The theater that was showing the movie was in danger of closing not too long ago (thanks to all that Covid business, ugh!); but they didn't. I'm so grateful, because every now and then, it's a huge treat to go out and watch a movie on the big screen.  And they have a giant, glorious Christmas tree outside this multiplex, so we snapped a date night selfie in front of it.

 

 

On Sunday, son #4 and his kids (the triplets plus one, who calls herself an "honorary triplet") came over for brunch after Mass.   And the 6-year-old girl triplet couldn't stop looking at the "quilted" ornaments on our tree.  For some reason, she was fascinated by them, especially when her Papa told her that I had made them.  I learned this simple and rewarding craft more than 40 years ago, when I was a young Navy wife who wasn't even a mom yet.  I used mostly traditional red and green Christmas fabric scraps from other projects for the first ones I made.  Since then, I have used materials that have special meaning to "quilt" the balls.

I made NY State Lottery ornaments for my mom, my siblings, and myself
after my dad died, using scraps from his old T-shirts.

I used some old baby garments that my boys wore to make the blue and yellow
one.  (The smaller one on the bottom right is one of the originals from 1981.)

The maroon, grey, and white one was made out of bits and pieces of
my boys' old Catholic grade school uniforms.

Yesterday, I made this one for the granddaughter who was so intrigued
by them, and I plan to give it to her tomorrow for her family's tree.

(I shared the step-by-step process of making these ornaments here at the blog a while back, if you're interested.)

Not much else is new.  We're just trying to get all of our must-watch Christmas movies in before the 25th, if possible. Last night we watched my favorite, It's a Wonderful Life.  

This morning before daily Mass, I sat in my living room, reading a new book by a lovely Catholic author with whom I became online friends back when I was writing Finding Grace and Erin's Ring.  (Her latest novel, The Charter Class, just came out.  It's a work of historical fiction about the very first class of students at the College of Our Lady of the Elms, an all-girls school in Massachusetts that opened in 1928.)   I was enjoying the book's uplifting story; the tree lights were sparkling; and for the first time ever, I was drinking my coffee out of one of the Santa mugs my husband gave me for Christmas last year.  It all felt a little too good to be true.

And I thought to myself, "Yes, it truly is a wonderful life."

God bless you, dear readers, at Christmas and always!

An Open Book: Young Love (in Fiction and IRL)

I have always been drawn to novels that tell stories of young love, of childhood crushes that survive the awkward phases of adolescence and morph into beautiful adult relationships.  You know, "coming of age" stories, ones that some might think are better suited to YA readers than adult ones.  Perhaps this is because I myself found the love of my life, my husband of 41 years, in high school. I started dating him in 1973, the summer after our freshman year, when we were both 15.  I LOVE our love story, which includes only growing closer and more sure that we belonged together during the four years we were attending different colleges, separated by about 850 miles.

A  couple of months ago I had a fun conversation with my middle son and his wife about our teenage romance, about how I can remember writing "Laura Pearl" and "Mrs. Laura Pearl" in the margins of my high school notebooks, practicing my signature for the hoped-for future--even though I actually worried that my guy and I had met much too young and therefore would probably never end up married.  I was convinced that he was going to go off to Notre Dame to find a prettier, smarter, more interesting girl and that would be the end of that.  The night before he left for college, I cried my eyes out, sure that the best years of my life were coming to an end at the age of 18.

Never have I been so happy to be wrong about something!

1980

Anyway, give me a novel where the heroine meets her true love when she's very young, and I am almost always hooked.  But such novels in our modern age are often completely ruined by totally inappropriate and unnecessary scenes of physical intimacy that have no business in any story about young (unmarried!) love.  Or even mature married love.  What’s with the voyeurism?!  It’s so hard to find works of fiction that are sweet and romantic without being unrealistically sappy, but are also clean--clean enough for even a teen to read.  I’m always on the lookout for them.

Providentially, my husband and I happened to listen to a podcast about my favorite movie of all time, It's a Wonderful Life, and Donna Reed's daughter was on as a guest.  Reed played the lovable Mary Hatch Bailey, wife of Jimmy Stewart's iconic George, of course; but her daughter also talked about some of the other movies in which her mother had had roles, and she mentioned a 1947 film called Green Dolphin Street.  She explained the plot a bit and then added that it had been a novel first.  Well, I was intrigued and immediately searched for the book online.  Within a few days, a paperback copy had arrived on my doorstep.

Here is the synopsis on the back cover of Green Dolphin Street, written by Elizabeth Goudge and originally published in 1944: 

"When Marianne Le Patourel meets William Ozanne in the 1830's on an island in the English Channel, she sets her heart on him. Her sister Marguerite, however, falls in love with him too.  When his Navy career is cut short, William eventually settles in New Zealand and writes to Mr. Le Patourel to ask for Marguerite's hand in marriage--but in his nervousness he pens the wrong name in his letter.  It is Marianne who arrives aboard the sailing ship Green Dolphin.

And so begins this sweeping novel that takes the characters on dramatic adventures from childhood through old age..."

Oh yeah, I was going to love this book.  I just knew it.  Though fictional, this historical novel is based on fact, on a man who really did write to ask for the hand of the girl he loved and ended up with the wrong sister, but made a good job of his marriage.  Knowing that made the story even more interesting to me.  And the writing is just magnificent.  When I was only about 150 pages into the book, with more than 400 more to go, I starting picking out some of the early passages that I found achingly beautiful, planning that I would do a full review when I was finished. (I guess this would be a good time to warn you that if you're not a big reader and you're not passionate about the written word, you might be bored by the rest of this post!)

When plain and somewhat dour Marianne meets handsome, happy-go-lucky young William for the first time, Goudge writes: "She stood with her back against the door, stiff and ungainly, staring at him with great dark eyes that seemed to devour his face with the intensity of her gaze, and she could not move or speak...her heart did not delay to claim this male creature for her own.  She was in love, in love at sixteen, desperately in love, as Juliet was, and with a boy who for all his height and strength and maturity was only a child of thirteen years.  It was absurd.  But then Marianne was never at any time in the least like other girls."

Who could resist this sweet boy?  “William would always squander himself, giving back easily the affection and liking so easily given to him.  'You're good, William,' she cried impulsively.  And for just one flashing moment, deep in her heart, she acknowledged his superiority...He was untidy, lazy, grubby, ill-brought-up, with a dangerous streak of weakness in him.  But...she would make of him such a man as the world had never seen. And he would love her as she loved him; it was not possible that he should not when she loved him so terribly.  He would die with her name on his lips." 

The way Goudge describes William, a reader can easily understand why the two sisters are smitten with him.  He’s handsome, but there’s more to him than that.  On one hand, he is a rapscallion and a typical teenage boy; but on the other, he is just about the kindest-hearted person in the world: "the bitterness of her tone made William look at her in astonishment.  He did not know what the trouble was, but he gripped her hand hard in sympathy.”  And this: "his instinct told him she was vexed about something and his kindness longed to apply what balm he could."  (Yes, Marianne, was vexed--because she knew that her lovely, joy-filled younger sister Marguerite loved William, too, and would probably win his heart; but she was determined to have him for her own anyway!)

William has a simple, childlike goodness that Marianne is attracted to, though she does not possess it herself; "he wanted...that everyone should be as happy as he was himself.  He flirted, too, with a bland impartiality that was almost godlike.  For he liked women as women, whether they were pretty or plain.  If they were pretty he enjoyed their prettiness, and if they were plain he was sorry for them and flirted with them all the more that they should forget it."

Marguerite's happy demeanor, her pure, almost saintly goodness is a like a mirror image of William's.  These two dear souls seem destined to be together; yet Marianne is determined to do whatever it takes to have William for herself.  In the end, no wiles are necessary, for he mixes up the names of the two sisters who played such huge roles in his youth and because of his tragic blunder, Marianne ends up the winner.  

Now that I've finished the book, I'll try not to give too much away, except to say that this is exactly the kind of story I relish: an epic tale that spans generations and explores the complexities of human relationships, exposing the deepest recesses of the hearts of the characters. Goudge is a gifted wordsmith, and I devoured each page of her beautiful prose greedily, rereading passages just to enjoy the way she puts things.  And the plot has plenty of twists and turns to keep a reader on the edge of her seat.  When I turned the last page, I was sorry to see it end.  What an amazing gift of a story!

Although a terrible mistake leads to the marriage of William and Marianne, when Marguerite is the woman he really wanted, so much good does come out of it: each of these two women is "saved" by the man they both love.  That is quite a Catholic theme: that God can make good come out of bad, that there is forgiveness and redemption possible for even the worst of transgressions.  In the end, that one terrible mistake, that mix-up of names, not only saves the two sisters, but William himself as well. Had the right sister sailed to New Zealand on the Green Dolphin to become his bride, he might never have become the man he was meant to be.   

As I said before, this novel is epic in scope.  It is populated with real and relatable characters, complex people who struggle to overcome their weaknesses.  There are conversions and reversions, and this novel plainly illustrates the power of the Catholic Faith to change lives.  Throughout the story, the message is clear that sacrificial love is the best kind of love--that TRUE love must always "pay the price" (just as Christ paid the ultimate price with his life, out of love for us and for our salvation).  Indeed, when the different characters learn to let go of pride and selfishness and live for the well-being and happiness of others, they grow in holiness and finally experience genuine joy.

Goodness, this is an extraordinary book, so engrossing and so, so moving.  I cannot recommend it highly enough!  I packed it to take along with me to NY this summer so that I can read it again--proof that it has moved onto my list of all-time favorite novels.

In fact, after enjoying Green Dolphin Street so much, I decided to try another novel by Elizabeth Goudge (who is apparently a favorite novelist of many, judging by the Amazon reviews of her books; how am I just finding her now?!).  This one was called The Scent of Water, and oh my, again I was completely blown away--by the beauty of the writing and by the author's keen insights regarding human nature and relationships.  While not a book about young love, it is very much a book about love, in all its forms: married love, parental love, love of God, and His infinite capacity of love for us--even about learning to love oneself.  This amazing book deals with the complexities and frailties of the human condition, with such tenderness and compassion.

Here's a quick synopsis: Mary Lindsay relocates to a small English country village, after she inherits an old house from an elderly deceased cousin whom she met only once, as a child.  Before moving to bucolic Appleshaw, Mary was a busy city-dweller and career woman.  She had been engaged to a man who died in WWII and had never married.  Now 50, she moves into her cousin's house and her whole life changes.  As Mary gets to know all the different inhabitants of this small town, with all their virtues and all their quirks, she sees just about every type of human struggle: physical and mental infirmity, anxiety and depression, sublimely intact and tragically broken marriages, corrupt business dealings, parents grieved by wayward children, and so much more.  But the author does not paint any one of the characters that populate this wonderful story as either pure saint or pure sinner.  Though flawed, they all have qualities to love and admire.  And the town takes care of its own, loyally helping and protecting all who live there, no matter what.  

There are so many beautiful reflections in this book about faith, about loneliness and heartache, about learning the truth about ourselves and the people we thought we knew.  It's just the most wonderful novel, beautifully written, by an author I've come to love so much.  I recommend it highly--especially for fellow introverts who like nothing better than to get lost in a good book. As Goudge puts it so perfectly when Mary is getting tired of dealing with an overly talkative houseguest, "What one wanted when exhausted by the noise and impact of physical bodies was not no people, but disembodied people; all these denizens of beloved books who could be taken to one's heart and put away again, in silence, and with no hurt feelings."  [Sigh.] She gets me!

Elizabeth Goudge's father was an Anglican rector, so I don't believe she was a Catholic; but her works reflect so many themes that are right in line with Catholic teachings.  In The Scent of Water, an old man who suffers from mental illness and therefore knows just what it means to share Our Lord's Cross says to Mary, "My dear, love, your God, is a Trinity.  There are three necessary prayers and they have three words each.  They are these.  'Lord have mercy.  Thee I adore.  Into Thy hands.'"  Powerful stuff!  I'm finding that books by this prolific English author are just plain good for my soul. 

Are you looking for compelling summer reading?  Then my advice to you is to read one of these books (Green Dolphin Street is my favorite).  I don't think you'll be disappointed.  But maybe you need more than just one book to read while you're sitting by the pool or the lake.  If you're looking for more recommendations, check out Carolyn's link-up!

It's a Beaut, Clark

Back when our boys were growing up in NH, it was our tradition for a number of years to go to a local Christmas tree farm to cut down our tree.  I loved how long those freshly cut trees would last (especially since we are definitely NOT those people who take down their tree by New Year's.  No judgment, you understand; it's just that we are not those people).  We always liked to keep our tree up at least until Epiphany.  And then we stretched it to the Baptism of Our Lord.

As time went on, we decided that maybe we would keep it up until our fourth son's birthday in late January...and then eventually, until Candlemas on February 2. 

What can I say?  We love it when we have a Christmas tree in our house!  It's hard not to feel happy when you're looking at a decorated and lighted tree.  And eventually, we went with a fake tree so that we could enjoy it as long as we wanted and would never have to worry about it drying out on us while we were away from home, visiting with family in NY between Christmas and New Year's.  Also, the boys got old enough that they were too busy with school and sports for us to schedule a trip to the tree farm with everyone involved.  The year my husband and I found ourselves going there alone was the last year we had a real tree. 

The artificial tree we had for many years in NH was a beauty.  We had the extra-high ceiling in the two-car attached garage that my husband converted into a giant sports-themed man cave/family room, so we were able to get one that was just shy of ten feet tall.  It had about 1,200 lights on it, a combination of color and white, and it was absolutely packed with ornaments, hundreds of them.  I loved that tree.  Each year, I added an ornament or two, some store-bought, some homemade, even though more ornaments was the last thing we needed.

We celebrated our last Christmas in NH in 2016, and all five of our sons, along with the four daughters-in-law and seven grandchildren we had at the time, spent the holiday with us that year.  It was just wonderful. (Our youngest son also met—IRL—the girl he'd been corresponding with on Catholic Match at our house that Christmas; they've been married for over two years now so I'd say it worked out!)

As you can see, it wasn't easy getting a picture of all the kiddos together—and that was ten grandchildren ago!

Shortly after those photos were taken, we were packing up a house that we'd lived in for 26 years to prepare for a big move south to VA, where our middle three boys (all but the “bookends”) had planted what appeared to be permanent roots.  By March of 2017, we were Virginians, and shortly after we got here, our oldest son switched careers and wound up moving close to us, too.  So now we had four of our five boys and all of our grandchildren near us.  It was too good to be true!

The one downside to the new house in VA was that there wasn't anywhere to display our enormous tree.  I was wondering if I would ever be satisfied with another one...but then we found a downsized tree that was absolutely perfect for us. (It's the official Griswold family tree, after all.)

It fits nicely in the bay window of our cozy little living room.  For the past two years, I haven't put any ornaments on it, because there were too many curious (and sometimes destructive!) toddlers milling about.  But with all those lights (over 3,000!), it still looked pretty without anything on it but a garland and a star.

The triplets are four now, so we decided to decorate the tree again this year.  I've given boxes of ornaments away to each of our boys, but the branches are still sufficiently packed.

And when we moved here, we also got a smaller tree for a corner of our family room.

So we don't have our killer tree anymore; but I think we're doing just fine, don’t you agree?

A few days ago, we received a small package in the mail.  It was a gift from son #3’s in-laws: a tiny felt pennant with a Christmas Vacation quote on it.

I'd say they've gotten to know us pretty well!

We are preparing to celebrate our fifth Christmas in the VA house, which is hard to believe.  The years in our new home state have positively flown by.  And now, with the imminent departure of son #1’s family (they are moving to a new home in the Midwest just after the holidays), we intend to cherish every moment we have with them—and with every member of our ever-growing Pearl clan. 

Having My Own Things About Me

I have a tendency to hold on to well-loved things forever and ever.

We've had the same living room couch and loveseat set for 24 years, for instance.  I know their pink and green floral pattern dates these pieces; but even though they were bought at Costco for a bargain basement price, they are a good make (I think?)--Bassett--and they have held up beautifully, so I can't see the justification for replacing them.  Besides, when I see them looking right at home in our new house in VA, their steadfastness and familiarity--and all the memories they evoke, of Rosaries prayed together while sitting on them in our old living room when our boys were growing up--give me a great sense of peace and happiness.

Can furniture make you happy?  Should it?  I don't know, but it does.  And actually, the older and more well-used, the better.  I can totally relate to Mary Kate Danaher, the feisty heroine in The Quiet Man (hands down one of the greatest movies of all time), when she says: "Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of having my own things about me.  My spinet over there, and a table here, and my own chairs to rest upon.  And a dresser over there in that corner, and my own china and pewter shinin' about me."

I get you, Mary Kate, I really do.  Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of only two things: getting married and being a mom; and having a home to take care of.  Call me old-fashioned.  (Really, you can call me that.  I'm totally okay with it.)

When we moved in March of 2017 from our home in NH, where we'd lived for 26 years and raised our boys, the transition was a bit emotional. Of course, we were moving closer to the people we loved, so we knew we would be happy here.  But I have to admit that I wondered if the much-different house we were moving to could really ever feel like home to me.  Well, after more than a year as a Virginian, I am pleased to report that it does; and one of the reasons for this is that I have my own things about me.  Even shinier, newer furnishings could never make me as happy as these familiar friends.

Once such piece of furniture is a pine night stand that my husband made way back in December of 1991, for our two oldest sons' bedroom.  (I know this is when he made it because I actually dated it, in pen, on the back.)  Once upon a time, the room it lived in looked like this.

[Sniff]   Where do the years go?  It seems like yesterday that our five boys were all still sleeping under our roof, tucked in beds covered in Notre Dame puffs...

Sorry about that.  Back to the night stand.  This solidly-built little piece was a total original, made without plans, and my husband even let me help him with some of the design elements.

This is how this beloved friend looked when we found it a new home in our VA house, between the twin beds that are sometimes occupied by our twin granddaughters when they come for sleepovers.

So here's the BEFORE.

For years now, I've thought it would be a good idea to add another shelf to this piece, so that it could be used as a more traditional bookshelf.  But there always seemed to be more important projects for my husband to tackle, so I didn't push it.

BUT--we had to leave behind our built-in bookcases when we made the big move, and I've spent the past year trying to figure out how to incorporate book storage wherever possible; so I recently decided that now would be a good time to finally add that shelf, and this project shot to the top of the honey-do list.

And my honey did.  So here's what it looks like now.

And here's the AFTER.

I thought it might be hard to match the stain perfectly, so I decided to try my hand at using chalk paint, after hearing so many good things about it.  (The fact that it can be applied over stain without sanding first was a big selling point with me.)  I wasn't sure what color to paint it, but I always seem to be drawn to shades of green.  I think Mary Kate Dannaher would approve of this very Irish color I settled upon.  Aye, I think she would!

This charming little bedroom pleases me so.  It looks like it belongs in a B&B, always ready to welcome stayover guests.  That's one thing that does change when you no longer have a passel of messy boys living at home: everything stays so neat and clean!

Unlike Mary Kate Danaher, I can definitely live without a spinet (I have no musical talent whatsoever) or shinin' pewter; but I need to have my books about me!  So in a future post, I'll show you how I turned each of our bedrooms in the new house into mini-libraries, since there really weren't good places anywhere else in the house to add bookshelves.  I'm sure you'll be waiting with baited breath for that post!

My Baby's New Blog!!

My baby boy (he's 24 now, but as long as I'm living my baby he'll be) just created a new website called The Layman's Movie Corner (Where Philosophy, Film, and Faith Find a Home), and I'm so excited about it.

He plans to use his own little corner of the Internets as a forum for reviewing newly released movies, which he'll watch through the lens of his Catholic Faith--thereby making it a forum for talking about two of his greatest loves: movies and Catholicism.  To say that I am proud of this young man is an enormous understatement.

Here is a little teaser from his site (which currently includes a couple of blog posts and will also feature, in the not-too-distant future, not only more posts but also podcasts), an excerpt from his "About Me" page:

While the majority of my development into a functioning, moral human being came from my Catholic upbringing, movies have always been there to fill in the gaps, or even more accurately, help me apply my Catholic principles and viewpoint to tremendous stories in which the morally correct answer may not be immediately evident......That, and movies are just so dang entertaining and helped develop my sense of imagination and wonder growing up.

To put it all into a nice, easily-digestible package, I'm just an average Catholic struggling his way through sin to, hopefully, live a moral life immersed in grace who also happens to love talking about movies. My hope is that this project will allow me to combine these two great loves of mine into something that you might find entertaining, inspiring, informative, or all of the above.

(You can read the full "About Me" post here.)

We are all meant to give glory to God in our own unique ways, depending on our God-given talents and gifts, our interests and abilities, and most especially, our particular vocations in life.  Why not, then, through movie reviews?!  Isn't this the greatest idea for a truly original blogsite (said my youngest son's mother in her not-at-all-biased humble opinion)?!  Couldn't it fill a void for the Catholic movie-goer who's never sure which films are worth the time and which he should avoid?  It could fill a niche, I think; and as I said, I am just so excited about the whole thing.

My youngest son has always been fascinated by movies and the magic that goes into producing them.  I think this started with "The Lion King" when he was about one or two.  But his deep love of movies and movie-making really blossomed and flourished when we let him watch a short film called "The Making of Jurassic Park," because he was obsessed with being allowed to watch that PG-13 movie at a much younger age than his brothers had been allowed to watch it--he was always trying to play "catch up" with his heroes!--and we didn't want him to be traumatized by the much-too-realistic dino attack scenes.  He couldn't get enough of that behind-the-scenes look at Stephen Spielberg's groundbreaking blockbuster.  He wanted to be the next Spielberg--that was his big dream.  In third grade, when they had a "Career Day" at school, he said that he wanted to be a movie director when he grew up.  He actually directed a short film to show his class that day, using his Jurassic Park toys and the stop-motion filming technique he'd learned (with me as his videographer), and he called it "T-Rex T-rouble."  (This short film is actually fairly impressive for a third-grader and still exists for posterity on a VHS tape that I will keep forever!)

I can't think of a better way for my movie-loving boy to spend his free time while he's stationed overseas than building his new website; and it is my dream for him that he will be "discovered" online, that his posts will go viral and someday, he'll be able to actually make a living from the movies, about which he has always been so passionate.  And what a beautiful (and unexpected!) way for a layman like him to give glory to God.

Pearls in Prague: Part Three

If you come here often you might have read "Pearls in Prague, Part One," wherein I told you that my husband has been flying commercially for 28 years, the last 20 of which he's been working strictly international flights.  And wherein I told you that I never got around to tagging along to see any of the wonderful European cities he'd flown to until 2011, when he'd already been an airline pilot for 23 years.  And wherein I said that I went on a string of awesome trips with him in a relatively short period of time, but then hadn't been able to do so for about four years now.

Then I told you how I played stowaway (make that spoiled business-class traveler) on his most recent four-day trip to Prague, flying over the ocean on October 17 and flying back on the 20th.

So now we're all caught up.

Having a husband who flies here, there, and everywhere makes movie-watching interesting--especially when you live in a house where you are the only woman among six men, so you watch  more action/adventure-type movies, like the Bourne and Mission Impossible franchises, than you do romantic comedies.  These macho sorts of films always seem to be shot in exotic locales like Rome, or Moscow, or Athens, or Paris...or Prague.  All places that my husband has been multiple times.  And as the action is unfolding, he'll usually say something like, "I've been to that plaza."  Or "I've walked on that street."  And I'll usually tease him, saying something like, "Oooh, la-di-da!  You're such a world traveler."  (But actually, he IS a world traveler.  So joke's on me!)

When we were in Prague, I was so taken with the iconic Charles Bridge.  The view is spectacular, to put it mildly.  And all along its length on either side, there are larger-than-life-sized holy statues.  It's truly an homage to the Faith, and so heart-stoppingly beautiful that I think I could spend all day on it and never get bored.  Its wide, cobbled walkway was teeming with tourists the whole time we were there.

And bonus: my husband informed me that now when I watch the first installment of Mission Impossible, which was shot in Prague, I'll be able to do what he usually does and say, "Hey, I recognize that street!  I recognize those stairs!  I stood on that bridge!"  He found this YouTube video clip for me, so that shortly after I'd walked the same route Tom Cruise walks in this scene from the movie, I could watch it on my iPhone and have the thrill of firsthand recognition.

So cool!  That's really how it all looks!

Anyway, without further ado I'll show you some of the photos I took while we were walking across Prague's Charles Bridge (and not falling off of it, like John Voigt's unfortunate character).

I never had even the slightest hankering to see Prague, but I should have.  I would go back there in a heartbeat, I really would.  It's such a clean, beautiful city, so filled with history and Catholic imagery and gorgeous architecture.  I'm still pinching myself when I think, "I was there."

But I was.  I really was!