Mary at the Olympics

I've been noticing something about the 2016 Summer Olympics, and it fills my soul with joy: I've been noticing that Mary, Our Blessed Mother, has been a big presence at the games.

When you watched Jamaican sprinting superstar Usain Bolt, a devout Catholic, win the gold in the 100m, did you notice that he was wearing a Miraculous Medal?

You can read more about this inspiring champion, and his devotion to Our Lady, here.

Bolt was not the only track athlete showing his love  for and gratitude to Mary at the games.  Here's a picture (along with a caption) that one of my friends shared on Facebook.

"At the conclusion of the women's 5000m finals on Friday, gold medal winner Meseret Defar of Ethiopia showed where her help comes from. Immediately after crossing the finish line, she pulled a picture of Our Mother of Perpetual Help from under her jersey, showed it to the cameras and held it up to her face in prayer."

Our Lady of Grace was there at the track, on a Miraculous Medal, when Usain Bolt crossed the finish line ahead of the pack.  Our Lady of Perpetual Help was there at the track, in the crumpled picture Meseret Defar had hidden under her jersey when she ran for gold. 

And it's not just the Track & Field athletes who pray to Our Blessed Mother for help before competitions.  Gold medal swimmer Katie Ledecky reportedly prays a Hail Mary before every race.  (Here's an article about Ledecky, if you'd like to read more.)

I think it's interesting that these athletes with strong Marian devotions are the ones winning the gold medals.

Some might argue that surely, in our crazy, messed-up world, God has more important things to worry about than who wins an Olympic gold medal and who doesn't.  But I would argue that this highly visible world stage in Rio--where athletes from all over the world have come together for sporting events that have millions of people tuned in and glued to their televisions--is actually a perfect venue for promulgating devotion to the Mother of God.  It is an opportunity for so many viewers to see that She listens to the petitions of those who believe in Her and have faith in Her intercessory powers with Her Beloved Son.  It shows that as God-less as the world seems to have become, there are still many faithful among us, even though their voices are often drowned out by the louder ones of the non-believing minority.

If Bolt, Defar, and Ledecky had not even qualified for the finals, would anyone even know about their love for Mary?  Would these stories about medals and prayers be plastered all over social media?  Probably not.  So I don't think it's any coincidence that they've been among the athletes who've stood out at these games.  They have been, in a way, agents of evangelization.

I am so incredibly touched by the stories of Marian devotion that have come out during these Olympic games.  I have not been watching religiously, so I may have missed some.  If you know of any others, please share them with me in the comments!

Boston, Here We Come!

Tonight, Notre Dame plays Boston College at Fenway Park in Boston, a city with deep Irish-American roots.  It's actually an away game for BC and a home game for the Irish, their "Shamrock Series" game for 2015. (Each year since the Shamrock Series began in 2009, ND has had one home-away-from-home game per season on its schedule.)

So tonight, my husband and I are going to be at Fenway, cheering on our boys in blue green and gold.  They're going to be wearing new uniforms designed specially for the occasion.

Snaz-zy!

You know what else looks pretty ding-dang snazzy?  Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox, with a football field where the baseball diamond should be.

That's Fenway's famous "Green Monster" on the left.

I am so excited for this game.  We put in for tickets ages ago, knowing that it might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Notre Dame play a football game at this historic ball field--and lucky for us, it's only about an hour's drive from our home.

Right after the game ends (very late tonight!), we're heading up to our lake house in NY to meet up with our oldest son and his family (he's the dad of four daughters, four and under) to spend Thanksgiving week together.

Notre Dame at Fenway...grandchildren at Oyster Haven...it just doesn't get any better than this.

Go Irish!

Football with Family

Testing, testing...1,2,3...
Is this thing on?  Hello?

This is my blog, right?  I mean, I used to know how it all worked, but I've gotten just a lee-tle bit rusty as of late...

So I thought I'd check back in and let you know that yes, I am still blogging.  I've got to stop using the fact that I live most of my life on the road as an excuse to neglect my writing.  Writing is so much fun.  It's sort of my favorite.

Anyway, I think I'll use some cell phone pictures to show you what I've been up to lately.  Here's a hint: back-to-back Notre Dame football games were involved.

The first one was out in South Bend on Sept. 5, where our beloved Irish beat Texas handily.  ("We're awesome," we thought.  "Maybe this is our year!")  And better yet, along with a whole slew of Pearls of all ages, I got to see my "bookend boys": our oldest son was there, along with his wife and four young daughters, for the epic Pearl tailgater before the game, but they headed back to their home in MI afterward since it was going to be a late one; and our baby was there, too--he got four days of leave and flew in from OK (it was the first time we'd seen him since he left home about two weeks after his ND graduation).

Here are some pictures from the ND v. Texas weekend.

The twins wore their Notre Dame cheerleading outfits.  (Wonder where they got those?)

Pearl brothers.

He'll always be my baby!

The second game was this past weekend, on Sept. 12 down at UVA in Charlottesville.  We won again, but just by the skin of our teeth.  ("Hmm...we made Texas look bad last week," we thought. "But maybe they just are, in fact, bad.")  We were so outplayed by the Cavaliers for most of the game, we probably shouldn't have won--but who am I to quibble?  Notre Dame's starting quarterback Malik Zaire broke his ankle and is now out for the season, sadly; and the back-up QB, DeShone Kiser, had a rough start--but then the kid pulled a long touchdown pass out of his hat, at almost the last second, to win the game for the Irish.  It was ugly, but it was a W.

The game was lots of fun, and so was the pre-game tailgater; and several of my husband's siblings made it to that one, too.  But the best thing of all was getting to spend time with our middle three boys, their wives, and our grandson G-Man.

I love it when in the span of two consecutive weekends, we get to see all five of our offspring and their significant others.  That, sports fans, is a win-win in my book!

Now here are some pictures from the ND v. UVA weekend.

Pearl brothers (the next generation).

My guys are all wearing matching ND sneakers (and you can get your own pair,

with your favorite NCAA team, at Row One).

With 3 of my 4 sweet daughters-in-law.

Win or lose, we're fans for life.  Go Irish!

Five Favorites

I'm joining Heather over at Mama Knows, Honeychild (or rather her sister-in-law), for the FIVE FAVORITES link-up.



Favorite #1: THIS PHOTO--

of my husband and our oldest son, who is the father of our three granddaughters--shamelessly stolen from my daughter-in-law Regina's blog (I would share the link with you, but it's not a public blog).  This was taken by Regina at the ND v. Michigan game on Sept. 6.  Our son/her husband is an ND alum, Class of 2006, and he hasn't gotten out to a football game at his alma mater in about five years.  And she had never been to a game in the ND stadium ever, so this was a big night for her, too.



(Aren't they the cutest?  That was a rhetorical question, because there's only one right answer!)

 

 

Favorite #2: THE FIGHTING IRISH--

whether they're crushing Michigan in a 31-0 gridiron shut-out (refer to above picture) and racking up W's with QB superstar Everett Golson at the helm, or having a painful-to-watch season (we've endured plenty of those), you just gotta love the Irish.  You do.  Well, I do anyway.  (Yes, this former English major just informed you that you "do gotta love the Irish."  And I stand by that.)

Yeah, baby!  A future Heisman winner?







AND SPEAKING OF THE HEISMAN, now for Favorite #3:

a cute-as-a-button photo of my daughter-in-law Preciosa (wife of son #3), striking that familiar pose at a recent UVA football game.

I guess this would have to be considered the first game for my grandson, G-Man, who is going to be born any minute now.  Thanks for taking him along to cheer on the Cavaliers, Mommy--as if you had any choice in the matter!  :)

 

Moving on from sports talk, I give you
Favorite #4: BEING A GRANDMOTHER--

which is the greatest thing EVER!

Talking about my three granddaughters in #1 up there, and then about little G-Man, our first grandson, in #4, gets me feeling all mushy inside.  I don't even know how to describe grandparent love.  Of course I love my sons with every ounce of my being; but the children of my sons hold a unique and special place in my heart--and that place just keeps expanding with the birth of each one.  (I'm hoping for 25 or so of them, when all is said and done; and I have no doubt that the expansion will continue so that all of them can be accommodated!)

I can't think of a greater joy than hearing one of my granddaughters say "Grammy."  So I recently ordered this sign from Etsy (another favorite--five is never enough!), and it is the perfect finishing touch for my newly renovated kitchen.

(Not the best photo ever--but isn't that the neatest sign?)

 



And finally, while we're on the subject of kitchen must-haves, Favorite #5: MALDON SEA SALT FLAKES!

If you haven't tried this product, you must!  It's amazing!  This is not your mother's salt, with the little girl carrying an umbrella on the canister, let me tell you.  This box is full of thin, crispy flakes of sea salt.  They're so incredibly delicious, with a delightful little crunch to them.

My husband brought a few boxes of this goodness home with him from London, when he flew there on a recent working trip.  One of the co-pilots told him about how great it was, and said that it could only be bought over there in London.  Well, guess what?  I found it on the shelves of my local Hannaford store!  You could probably find this in your local grocery store as well.

It costs a little more than regular sea salt, but it's so, so worth it.  I love it so much...I'm embarrassed to admit that I sometimes pour a little pile of flakes into my hand and eat them plain.  (Maybe I shouldn't have shared that with you.)

 Happy hump day, everybody!



Home Again--for Now, Anyway!

We're back from our most recent travels--and hey, I just remembered: I have a blog!  And I haven't posted anything on it in ages.  But I've got all kinds of great excuses for my Internet silence.

You see, I've been out of town for about a week.  My husband and I flew out to his alma mater to watch ND beat Rice in their season opener on August 30.  Most of his siblings, their spouses, and many of our nieces and nephews were there, too (sharing a rented condo)--and of course our youngest son, who's a senior.  Our baby, whose mother used to tidy up his room for him and keep his laundry basket from overflowing, is living in an off-campus "Army house" with seven other Army ROTC cadets.  His bedroom is a bit of a nightmare.  (AAAGGGHHH!!!  Why do college boys want to live off-campus when they can live in a dorm, with cafeteria meals and a laundry service??!!  Why are they okay with living in utter squalor??!!)   But our boy is happy, so I'm happy.  And the main part of the house is fairly neat and clean, thanks to the oldest housemate, a former enlisted man who will graduate with our son and be commissioned as an officer.  He's got a few years on the other guys, and he's the designated "dad" of the house.   Those eight housemates are some of the most awesome young men you will ever meet--and I'm not just saying that because one of them belongs to me. The US of A is in good hands with those lads preparing to enter the ranks of our military forces, I'll tell you.

After the game, we headed over to the Kalamazoo area to spend the week with our oldest son, his wife, and our three precious granddaughters.  Then we rounded out our Midwest jaunt with another trip to South Bend for the game on September 6--and this time, our oldest son's family came along to tailgate with us.  I decided to forgo my ticket, and our son and his wife got to sit with my hubby and watch ND annihilate Michigan (in a 31-0 shutout!), while I stayed back at our rented house with the wee ones.  (Grammy loves ND football; but not as much as those three little girls dressed in ND cheerleader outfits--it's not even close, people.)

On Sunday, we had the privilege of attending Mass at Notre Dame's Basilica of the Sacred Heart, and at one point both of the twins (3-year-olds who are at the top of the growth charts for both height and weight and wear size 4-5 already) wanted to sit on my lap--and they stayed there for quite a long stretch.  I often play the role of C.L. (chopped liver, that is) whenever their Papa is available; but suddenly, I was the rock star.  They both wanted me, and only me!  They burrowed into me, played with my hair, gave me snuggles and hugs.  A woman behind me leaned over and whispered in my ear, "You're being smothered with love."  I was.  And it was HEAVEN.  As if going to Mass at the Basilica isn't heavenly enough!  It actually brought tears to my eyes at one point, I felt so very blessed.  I wondered, as I often do, if it's possible for a heart to actually burst wide open, because it's so over-full of love.

After Mass, we visited the Grotto behind the Basilica, a replica of the one at Lourdes.

Little Gal and her daddy, saying a prayer together.

And then we crossed the street to feed the ducks at one of the campus's two small lakes.  (Luckily we had plenty of hot dog buns that were getting mighty stale, since they were more than a week old--leftovers from the tailgater we had before the Rice game.)

My little Mass buddies.

It was pretty much a perfect Sunday.

By the by, those three matching dresses the girls are wearing, bought at the Hammes Bookstore at ND during the weekend of the Rice game, were supposed to be Christmas presents.  But Papa and Grammy couldn't wait to see them on their sweetie pies...so they were just "I love you" presents.

I've been home since Monday night, and yes, this is Wednesday night...so I suppose I could have gotten a post up before now.  But we are out of town so much these days that whenever I do get home to my poor neglected house, I have a list a mile long of things I need to get done.  First on the list, of course, is to finish the last few chapters of Erin's Ring!  Also, I'll have to find out when I can offer the deep discount on the Kindle version of Finding Grace, and I'll update you on the book club--which I believe is going to be called "Grace-filled Tuesdays."

I think I'll be back here again tomorrow.  I'd almost forgotten how much fun blogging is! 

Good night and God bless you!

Game Day Onesies for G-Man

You may have heard that our middle son and his wife Preciosa are expecting their first child.  The gender of this wee one has been revealed,

and he will henceforth be affectionately called "G-Man" on this blog.

My son is a Notre Dame alumnus and rabid Fighting Irish football fan.  Preciosa is a Florida State alumna and rabid Seminoles football fan.  Their two worlds are going to be colliding on October 18, when ND travels to FSU to play on the Seminoles' turf.  We were all planning to attend that game together, and my husband had already purchased our tickets.  But God had other plans...because not too long after their wedding in December of last year, those two kids found out that they were going to become parents.  And their little darling was due to make an appearance around October 12, making travel to that game for the parents-to-be something that just wasn't going to be happenin'.

That's okay, though.  We're used to curve balls like this in our family, so we just called an audible.  (I'm mixing my sports metaphors, I know.)  My husband is still going to be off for the ND-FSU game (and the week prior), having put in for the vacation time so that we could travel down to FL to meet up with the kids for the big game.  SO, new game plan: instead of heading to FL, we're going to VA, where we'll watch it on TV--and hopefully G-Man will have already made his appearance (if he's a good boy, and doesn't make his mama go past her due date!), and he'll watch it with us.

I thought I'd make G-Man some game day onesies for the big contest between his parents' alma maters.  If it seems like the ND appliques are a tad more substantial, that was purely accidental.  There was no intent to show which of the two opponents I hope will be the winner.  ;)

GO IRISH!

GO NOLES!

And before I sign off, just a word about boys--because after raising five of them, I think I have earned the authority to speak on this topic.

They're wonderful.  That's it in a nutshell.  They're noisy and messy when they're little fellas, and they make every single activity into an intense competition.  But with boys, it's all out there in the open; there aren't all those emotional undercurrents that you have with girls.  Boys can be at each other's throats one minute, and laughing together like best buddies the next.  I always tell my husband that I think males are simple creatures, and I mean that in the best possible way.

The sweetest thing about boys, though, is that they really, really love their mamas.  When mine were little rascals, my husband promised me that they would grow up into tall, strapping lads who treated their mother like a queen.  He was right.

And I know, women who have girl children will tell you that there isn't anything that compares to the unique bond between mother and daughter.  And moms of all sons get the "Oh, poor you, no girls?" thing all the time (I sure do!), as though we have been cursed or something.  Recently, I was reading a blog post by a mother of four sons that really hit home with me.  She said that she was irritated by people who are "unnecessarily sympathetic" toward her because she has only boys.  Yes, I thought!  All that sympathy I've gotten over the years has been totally unnecessary!  I feel blessed!   Maybe there's something a mother misses out on when she doesn't have a daughter...but I'm getting that now, with the wonderful young women our boys have brought into our family.

Preciosa, you are about to be blessed to a degree that you can hardly imagine.  And my prayer for you is that that little son of yours treats you half as well as his daddy has always treated me.  If so, you will be the luckiest woman on earth!

Our Boys' Life Coach

My husband was always very involved in anything that interested our boys; one thing was football (something he'd played himself in his younger days), and another was lacrosse (which he hadn't).

He arranged his work schedule so that he could help to coach their Pee Wee and junior high football teams, and he even did a stint as a freshman football coach when one was needed during their high school years.  As an airline pilot, he was usually able to bunch his trips together so that he could be off and available for game day, and for as many weekday practices as possible.

When our boys discovered lacrosse, this man of mine ("my hero," as I like to call him) became such a knowledgeable student and true die hard fan of the "fastest game on two feet" that he ended up becoming an assistant lax coach as well, dealing mostly with the defense, throughout our sons' youth lacrosse years.  The head coach, a good friend of ours, saw early on how well he understood the game just from watching the action on the sidelines and asked him to join the coaching staff.  My husband reminded him that he'd never played lacrosse himself, and our friend replied, "That's perfect.  I can mold you."  From there, my husband eventually went on to become the head defense coach at our boys' Catholic high school, and for the many years he was in that role (and later he and our second oldest son--as the greatest defensive coaching duo NH high school lacrosse has ever known, in my learned opinion), he led the squads under his tutelage so well that our boys' teams were always ranked at the top of the pack defensively.

By the end of his youth lacrosse days, our oldest son had made a bit of a name for himself.  The summer after 8th grade, the head coach at the high school he was going to attend got wind of this, and he invited our boy--a mere incoming freshman--to go to a lacrosse camp at Johns Hopkins University with a group of older players who would be his teammates the following spring.  It was kind of a big deal for him to be asked to join them, and he was terribly excited.  There was just one problem: the camp was going to run for five days, from Thursday to Monday.  How was our son going to get himself to Sunday Mass, if the camp was on a secular university's campus and he couldn't find a church in Baltimore that was convenient to get to?  And if his coach was working as an instructor at the camp and couldn't manage to carve time out of his schedule to get him there, who would take him?  My husband voiced these concerns to the coach, who said, "Oh, don't worry, Mr. Pearl.  I'll see that the boys get to church."  Now in his defense, we did believe the coach had good intentions.  But we also knew that many, if not all, of the other players--despite the fact that they were for the most part Catholics--would use the traveler's dispensation, since it would probably be a big hassle getting to Mass.  (Not to mention that doing so would mean they'd have to miss a drill or a scrimmage.)  If our son was the only one who cared about going, chances are it wasn't going to happen.

Coach Pearl, with his two oldest sons.

The more he thought about it, the more this situation ate away at my husband.

[A quick aside: why do five-day sports camps always include Sundays?  I realize that lots of the coaches have other day jobs and maybe weekends need to be involved.  But couldn't some drills be postponed until later in the day on Sunday, so that those who want to can make it to church?  Okay, back to the story now.] 

Well, my husband decided to fly down to Baltimore on Saturday, rent a car, and book a room for the night at a hotel--all so that he could be there on Sunday morning to get his firstborn son to Mass.  It was just the two of them, and it was totally worth it.  Then he dropped our boy back off at camp and flew back home.

And I know what you're thinking--the fact that he can fly stand-by for free, one of the great perks of his job, made this sacrifice a whole lot easier than if he'd had to buy an expensive airline ticket.  That's very true.  But it was a sacrifice nonetheless; because if you were married to an airline pilot (or at least to my airline pilot), you would understand that the last place he ever wants to be on his days off is at an airport or on an airplane.  That feels too much like work.  Pilots are away from home too much as it is, and they guard their days at home, and their glorious nights sleeping in their own beds, quite jealously.  Where my pilot wanted to be was not on a plane heading down to MD, but relaxing at home with our four younger sons and me.  However, when it comes to the devout practice of the Catholic Faith and the role of Christian fatherhood--which means that the father is responsible for passing the Faith on to his children, so that they truly know just how important it needs to be in their lives--there is no sacrifice so great that my husband wouldn't make it for the good of his family.

Fast-forward to the following summer: our second oldest son, following directly in the cleat steps of his older brother, had made a bit of a name for himself in the youth lacrosse world, and the high school head coach decided to invite yet another incoming freshman Pearl to join a group of future teammates (one of them being his brother) down to Johns Hopkins for a five-day lacrosse camp.  The funny thing was that right away, the coach said to my husband, "And don't worry, Mr. Pearl.  I've got it all set up and I'll see that the boys get to church."

Do you think my husband heaved a sigh of relief and stayed home, or do you think he flew down to Baltimore again to make absolutely sure his sons were able to attend Sunday Mass?

If you guessed the latter, you are right.  He just couldn't leave it to chance.  But this time, at least, the coach really had made arrangements ahead of time to have someone take the group to church.  Since he was there anyway, however, that someone ended up being my husband.  And if I remember correctly, there were a couple of other lads on the team who joined the Pearls for Mass that day.

Some people might think this is the story of a dad who went above and beyond what's expected or necessary.  But I don't think there's any way our boys can look at those two trips their father took, when he would have much rather been enjoying his days off at home, and not realize just how important the Mass is supposed to be to faithful Catholics.  During those teen years, so many of our boys' peers were questioning the Faith--and their parents stepped back and let them figure out their own paths on their own "faith journeys," even if that meant watching them miss Mass every weekend.  My husband never had to lecture or harangue our kids about attending Mass.  They just did it because they saw through his example that this is what Catholics do; and Pearls are Catholics, so it's what we do.  Some kids might have been embarrassed to have their dads show up at lacrosse camp to take them to Mass; but to our boys, that was just Dad being Dad.  And accepting--without resentment or embarrassment--that he was there to get them to church on time was just them being them.  He showed those sons of his with his very loud actions that there are some things that take precedence over even your most beloved team sport.  God before lacrosse, that's just how it is. 

It should come as no surprise to anyone, then, that when several of our sons weren't meeting the kind of young women who were "wife material," they went on CatholicMatch.com and found soul mates who shared their Faith, morals, and values.  All three of our married sons met their spouses that way.  It should also come as no surprise that all five of them still go to Mass every Sunday.  Or that our three little granddaughters (who go by non-saintly aliases on this blog) were given the strong and beautiful names of some of the most eminent saints in the Catholic Church.  The Faith is simply part of who our boys (and now their spouses) are.

Our boys are were football and lacrosse players.  They are (or will be) sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers.  But above all, they are Catholics.

I give all of the credit for the way our boys embrace and live their Faith to their father.  He was once their football and lacrosse coach...but he has always been their life coach.

7QTF: Seven Posts from the Old Days

I'm joining Sheenazing blogger Jen Fulwiler (et. al.) for her awesome Friday link-up extravaganza, but I'm not writing anything new for this post.  I do love to write; as Jen explained in her 7QTF post today, some of us have "the charism of writing (a charism being a gift from God that fills you with energy when you use it)", and I like to think I have this.  Well I must have it, I guess, because since I started String of Pearls back in March of 2011, I've published over 900 posts.  But if 10 people stopped by to read any one of my posts back in the old days, it was a good day.  And all you could hear in my comment box was the sound of crickets.  But I didn't really care--I knew very little about the wider world of blogging back then, and I was doing my little daily writing exercises because...well, because I just had to.  These days, I get a lot more "hits" and comments each day than I ever could have dreamed of when I was a blissfully ignorant newbie blogger.  So I suppose I've come a long way, relatively speaking.

(My blog profile pic, which I haven't changed since I started this blog.  And it was old then--taken in 2007.
But it's my favorite picture of me with my favorite sons.)

As I said, I'm not writing anything new today.  Instead, I'm going to re-post some oldies but (I hope) goodies.  I was still working to find my blogging "voice" when I wrote these, but here are some of my favorite posts from 2011.

-1-

This one is from 6/17/11.  The first time around, it got 12 page views and zero comments, but it's dear to me anyway.  I give you "Random Thoughts about Adorable Things."

-2-

And here's a post that came right after that one, on 6/18/11.  It also got 12 page views (most likely the same 12 relatives!) and zero comments, but I think it's a good one because it's about my favorite person in the world.  It's short and sweet, and it's called "An Early Happy Birthday to My Husband."

-3-

As a mother to all sons, I have been surrounded by lots of testosterone for a long, long time (until recent years, when two daughters-in-law and three granddaughters came along and injected the Pearl family which a much-needed shot of sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice).  The differences between the sexes has always fascinated me.  Ditto for anything old, antique, or vintage--especially old letters.  So this post from 8/13/11 (20 whole page views--a big day!--and zero comments) remains a favorite of mine: "Men Are from Mars, Women Like to Talk."

-4-

This one is dated 10/13/11; 8 page views, zero comments.  When I wrote it, I was still adjusting to being an empty-nester for the first time, because the youngest of my five sons had left a few months prior to begin his freshman year in college.  I was really "Missing My Baby Boy."

-5-

So, being the mother of all sons, I have learned a few things about the hairier sex.  On 10/15/11, I wrote this post on the topic, called "Boys Will Be Boys."  The first time around, it was read by 9, commented upon by zero.  But I like it because it's about my second oldest son, a wonderful high school teacher and football coach.

-6-

One thing I love to talk about on this blog is my three beloved granddaughters.  This post from 10/17/11 was only seen by 5 readers when I first posted it, and guess how many comments it received?  But if you want to see undeniable "Proof of Life" in the womb, you don't want to miss this one about the twins.

-7-

I couldn't decide which one of two favorite posts to use for Take #7; but then I decided to use both.  They're each short enough that they could be counted as half a post.  The first, originally published on 10/19/11, completely tickled my middle son.  He was one of the 12 who read it that day, and although my comment box was empty, he e-mailed me to give me a big thumb's up.  It's called "You Can't Judge a Book by Its Cover."

And as if that wasn't enough humor for you, check out my ridiculously outdated glasses in this post from 11/19/11, titled "Babies and Bad Fashion."  It got 10 hits back then (and you guessed it, zero comments)--now you can be the 11th person to read it!  It'll only take you a minute.

So that's what String of Pearls looked like back in 2011.  Three years later, I hope this blog isn't getting too tired-out and repetitive.  I mean, maybe this is the year I'll give it a new look; most of the blogs I read have updated their page designs since I've started following them.  But I have the same look going on that I did at the beginning (with a few do-dads and gizmos added onto the right side of the page).  Because I'm set in my ways and I resist change with every fiber of my being.  But we old folks can be like that!

Now off to Jen's with you, for offerings that were freshly written this very day for your reading pleasure.

My Notre Dame Santa

Once upon a time, my husband used to travel to Moscow quite often for his job, and he would bring home the most amazing hand-carved, brightly hand-painted, ornately decorated Russian Santas.

Inspired by these one-of-a-kind beauties, some years ago I decided to try to create a large Notre Dame-themed Santa of my own, painted in a similar manner.  The Russian Santas in our collection are 3-D, and mine is flat (I cut it out of pine, using my scroll saw, and painted it front and back with acrylics), but this homemade Notre Dame Santa is one of my favorite Christmas decorations nonetheless.  In fact, I keep it out all year long in our "new room/sports room"--the one with the 70" flat-screen TV (meaning the one where we usually hang out when we're watching football games, "Downton Abbey," or Netflix movies).

I was able to incorporate this oversized Notre Dame Santa into the Notre Dame/Florida State football fan décor of the rehearsal dinner we hosted for our middle son and his bride on December 6.  I printed an image I found on the Internet of a football with the FSU Seminole mascot in the center of it, laminated it, and used glue dots to attach it to my Santa, making it look as if he was holding it in his mittened hands.  He was now a Santa that both an Irish fan and a Seminole fan could love!  And he looked right at home in the center of the fireplace mantle, a fitting decoration for a party that was held on the Feast of St. Nicholas.

I'm thinking about making one of these 19"-tall handcrafted Santas for each of my married sons and their wives as Christmas gifts next year--all completely different and made to reflect each couple's unique personality and style.  What say you, kids?  Would this be something you'd like to have?

In the meantime, ho-ho-hope you're all having a blessed and happy Advent season!

Love Thee, Notre Dame

At the end of October my husband and I traveled from our home in New England out to Colorado, for a visit with our oldest son and his family.  While we were at it, we thought we’d kill two birds with one stone and watch one of Notre Dame’s contests on the road (after making it out to South Bend three times already this season to see the Irish play on their home turf).

About a half-hour after Notre Dame’s 45-10 victory over the United States Air Force Academy that Saturday afternoon, we attended an anticipated Mass.  It was held in a large heated tent on the academy’s grounds, not far from the Falcons’ football stadium.  We are generally not fans of either outdoor Masses or anticipated ones, preferring to attend Sunday morning Masses inside churches.  Especially churches as beautiful as the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on the Notre Dame campus, when we’re lucky enough to make that happen.

This cell phone photo can't begin to do the Basilica's breathtaking ceiling justice.

But since my husband had to catch a couple of connecting flights the next day to get home in time for work on Monday, we decided that we should take advantage of this conveniently-timed Mass that the Notre Dame Club of Colorado Springs had taken pains to provide for any Catholic football fans who might be in the same boat we were that Saturday.  We would never fall back on the “traveler’s dispensation,” except in the most dire and extreme of circumstances, and had been working on finding a church that would offer the earliest possible Mass the next morning; but there was no doubt that this Mass that took place a stone’s throw from the stadium right after the game ended made things a whole lot easier for us that weekend, Mass planning-wise.

The tent was jam-packed with mostly Notre Dame folks, all sporting navy blue, gold, and Kelly green garb.  Just about every article of clothing I saw in that tent—t-shirts, hoodies, parkas, baseball caps, knit hats, gloves, scarves, pants, and even sneakers—was embroidered or silk-screened with leprechauns, shamrocks, or the familiar interlocking N and D.  If you’re a lover of Notre Dame (which our family most definitely is, and then some!), then the Irish-themed congregation that was huddled against the cold under a tent that night was a sight for sore eyes.

A table draped with a dark green damask tablecloth served as an altar, and upon it stood a large golden crucifix.  The priest was very holy and reverent.  The Notre Dame Club members who assisted him were obviously very faith-filled and dedicated.  A young man served as cantor, leading the rest of us in traditional hymns near and dear to any Catholic’s heart.  It was all very beautiful, and I was moved more than I ever thought I would be—surprisingly so.

We arrived early, as they were setting up for Mass.

I was sitting in a tent that had been set up on packed dirt and grass, not in a glorious church with light streaming through its stained-glass windows; yet that night, that tent felt like a cathedral.  And not once, but two or three times—as I sat in my metal folding chair next to my husband, surrounded by faithful Catholics who obviously know that Notre Dame is about so much more than just football, listening to the familiar words of the liturgy—my eyes filled with tears.  My heart was bursting with such warmth and love, contemplating the dedication of those hundreds of fans, who could have rushed out to eat a restaurant dinner or continued the tailgate cook-outs they’d begun before the game…but instead, had rushed to a huge white tent, a temporary House of the Lord, to participate in the un-bloody re-enactment of Christ’s great Sacrifice on the Cross.

This experience, in a nutshell, tells the story of how Notre Dame gets so much right.  The school has been chastised, and rightly so, for some of the mistakes she has made.  When the administration invited the most pro-abortion president in the history of the United States to be the keynote speaker at the 2009 commencement ceremony (and conferred an honorary degree from the university upon him to boot), many of Notre Dame’s most dyed-in-the-wool supporters felt betrayed.  My husband and I were affected by that poor choice in a deeply personal way, because our third oldest son graduated that year.  We were watching the whole scandal unfold, up-close.  We were there in the Joyce Center when the president gave his speech, and our hearts were heavy indeed.  We would have skipped out on it altogether, but our beloved middle son—of whom we were very proud—had worked hard for four years to earn the right to wear a cap and gown that day, and for his sake we weren’t going to miss that.  But for a while afterward, we wondered if Notre Dame was heading in a direction that would lead us to cancel our support of an institution that has been so special to so many members of the Pearl family.

Few earthly institutions are perfect, however, because the human beings who run them are inherently flawed, born as they are with the stain of Original Sin.  And I’ll tell you, that Mass on the USAFA campus reminded me of why I love Notre Dame as much as I do, even though I was never a student there myself.  That Mass was just one example of how Notre Dame gets it right more often than not.  The weekend would not have been complete for Catholic Irish fans solely due to a resounding win on the gridiron; it would only be complete if it also included the opportunity to fulfill our Sunday obligation and receive the Body and Blood of Christ in the Eucharist.  It did not surprise my husband and me at all when our son told us that the local chapter of the Notre Dame Club had scheduled this Mass.  That’s the sort of thing you come to expect when you’ve spent any time at all on the Notre Dame campus, or with Notre Dame alumni and fans.

If you are a Catholic parent and you want your child to attend a college where he will have absolutely no problem finding a convenient time or place to attend Sunday Mass (and plenty of like-minded students who will attend with him), there is no better place on God’s green earth than the Notre Dame campus.  Every single dorm holds a Sunday Mass in its chapel--some of them as late as 10:00 p.m., for those students who may have been traveling that day or who sleep through their alarms in the morning.  The Basilica has a full schedule of Masses, including anticipated Masses planned around football games on fall Saturdays.  Everywhere you look as you walk around that beautiful slice of Heaven in Indiana, there are many reminders of its Catholicity.  My goodness, have you been to the Grotto, a faithful replica of the original one at Lourdes?  Your soul can’t help but be touched there.  And of course the most iconic image of all is the statue of Mary, Notre Dame (which of course means “Our Lady,” in French), standing there on top of that gleaming dome, right in the heart of the campus named for Her.  That’s what it’s all about, people: it’s about providing an education that is not only academically challenging, but informed by and irrevocably tied to the Catholic Faith.  Football is only a small part of Notre Dame’s raison d’etre.  And national championships are certainly not the most important items on the list of things she’ll fight for.

Football weekend in 2002, when our oldest son was a freshman at ND.

My husband’s youngest brother (ND Class of 1992) has a good friend who didn’t grow up in South Bend, but settled there after graduation and still calls it home.  We saw this family friend earlier in the season at a football weekend get-together, and he described living in close proximity to his alma mater in this way: “It’s like living in a Catholic Disneyland.”  I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty ideal to my hubby and me.

Not that long ago, our New England town boasted three thriving Catholic parishes; but due to decreased vocations and a shortage of available priests to serve as pastors, these have now been combined into one large parish.  We wonder what will happen if this newly-formed parish ever has to close its doors.  And then we think about the one place we know of that always seems to have not just enough, but more than enough, priests to serve the needs of its faithful: our dear Notre Dame (a.k.a.—“Catholic Disneyland”).  Every time we attend a special Mass there, whether for a freshman orientation, a Junior Parents Weekend, or a graduation, the altar is filled with concelebrating priests.  One day, we just might have to relocate to South Bend, if only to be assured that we will never have to worry about priest shortages.  Yes indeed, we just might have to retire near that special place where Our Lady watches over all from Her perch atop a dome of gold.

My soon-to-be second daughter-in-law snapped this photo.  I think it's exquisite.

There was a bit of a brouhaha not long ago, when Coach Brian Kelly announced that his team would no longer stand facing the student section of the stadium—after losses, that is—to join their friends and classmates in singing the school’s Alma Mater, “Notre Dame, Our Mother.”  The practice of having the team head over to sing the Alma Mater along with their most ardent supporters—those ever-faithful student-fans--after every home game, win or lose, was begun under former Coach Charlie Weis.  Many students and alumni were understandably upset by Kelly’s change in policy, because the Alma Mater is not just a run-of-the-mill secular fight song.  It is in fact a prayer to Our Lady, who watches over the university named for Her, and whom we should invoke in good times and in bad…not only when celebrating our victories, but maybe even more importantly when striving to deal graciously and bravely with our defeats.  The song that the students sing (along with so many other loyal fans in the stands) at the end of each game, as they sway back and forth with their arms draped over each other’s shoulders, is not sung in praise of a mere academic institution or a popular football program, no matter how storied; it is sung in praise of and with love for the most holy Mother of God.

Notre Dame, Our Mother [Alma Mater]

Notre Dame, our Mother
Tender, strong and true
Proudly in the heavens,
Gleams thy gold and blue.

Glory's mantle cloaks thee
Golden is thy fame,
And our hearts forever,
Praise thee, Notre Dame.

And our hearts forever,
Love thee, Notre Dame.

Every time my husband hears this song, he gets choked up and his eyes fill with tears.  And trust me, you don’t need to have graduated from Notre Dame to experience that very same reaction.

Love thee, Notre Dame.  Forever and ever.  Amen.

Sporting blue and gold--of course!--during one of our recent trips to one of my favorite places.

Written by the wife of an alumnus (Class of 1980), as well as the mother of three alumni sons (2006, 2009, and 2010), one son who spent two of his undergraduate years matriculating at Our Lady's university, and another son who is slated to graduate in 2015.

Red Sox Win World Series...Again!

This morning I'll be two-legging it back home from a week-and-a-half-long visit with my oldest son, his wife, and my three sweet little granddaughters.  I'll either be strapped in a seat 30,000 feet above the ground or rushing from one end of a busy airport to the other (and these are just my two very favorite ways to spend a day).  Before I go, though, I thought I'd get something posted--you know, because I've stated that my goal is to blog every day, rain or shine.

So real quick, sports fans (although you've probably heard this news already):

Last night, the Red Sox won their third World Series in 10 years!  Against the Cardinals, in game 6.  And Sweet Holy Caroline, they did it at Fenway!

So much for the storied Babe Ruth Curse.

Take that, Bambino!

I haven't been watching the Sox much in recent years (I let my hubby do most of the watching for me), because I haven't been able to love them like I used to since the retirement of catcher and team captain Jason Varitek.  But they've still got Big Papi.

And once again, they're the best team in baseball.  They're wicked good, those guys.  They are the champions, THEY ARE THE CHAMPIONS...of the WORLD.

October 22: A Red-Letter Date

My oldest son was born yesterday.

I'm sorry; that was misleading.  He wasn't born yesterday in the literal sense (and I didn't mean to imply that he's a gullible naif, either); he was born on yesterday's date...thirty years ago. 

That's right: the little newborn peanut sleeping peacefully on his exhausted mama's chest in the above grainy, pre-digital-age snapshot is now a thirty-year-old husband and father to three daughters of his own.  Have thirty years really passed since 1983?  It truly seems like only yesterday.  And no matter how old he gets, there will always be a part of me that sees him as that newborn baby boy who first made me a mother and changed my life, in every possible way, for the better.

My husband and I went out to Notre Dame last weekend for the ND v. USC game, and afterward we flew with our youngest son (who is a junior there and has his fall break this week) out to CO to spend some time with our firstborn, his lovely wife, and our three beloved granddaughters.  (As they would say, "We love them BI-I-I-S much!")  And then we're going to catch the ND v. Air Force game this coming Saturday, since the AF Academy is conveniently located right around the corner from our son's home.  Back-to-back Notre Dame football games, with a week of Papa and Grammy bliss sandwiched in-between: it doesn't get much better than that!

En route to CO on Sunday, we encountered some problems getting out of Indianapolis, where we'd driven after our ND weekend to meet up with our #4 son, who was stopping at an Army base there to take care of a bit of admin on his way back from his six-month deployment in Afghanistan.  We had dinner with him Sunday night and he shared a hotel room with us, and then we parted Monday morning because we were flying west to CO and he was flying back down to his home in VA.  But we always fly stand-by (which you know if you visit here often), and every flight out of Indianapolis was overbooked for most of the day.  (Peyton Manning and the Denver Broncos had just been in town to play Manning's old team, the Colts--which may have had something to do with it!)  So we got stuck and couldn't get a flight out until after 7:00 p.m.  But then we heard from our returning hero, and his first flight was delayed until about 7:00 p.m. as well, so we were able to meet up with him again and spend the whole day hanging out with him in the Indianapolis airport, which was a bonus.  I'm convinced that our delay on Monday was all in God's plan, so that we could spend some extra time visiting with our fourth son.

We finally made it to Detroit, and then caught a late flight to Minn-St. Paul, where we spent the night.  Then yesterday morning we flew to Denver, got a rental car, and drove the rest of the way to CO Springs.  Phew!  Mission accomplished.  (Every trip these days feels like that Steve Martin-John Candy movie "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles"!)

I meant to blog yesterday, in honor of the birthday boy, but I was just completely wiped out from all that jet-setting.  So I thought I'd honor him today, and while I'm at it tell you that my husband's older sister (who happens to be the godmother of our oldest son) became a grandmother for the first time yesterday.  Her firstborn, a daughter who was named after me, gave birth to a baby girl--on the very same date that I gave birth to my first child oh-so-many years ago.  My husband commented on how special it was that the two Laura's became new mothers on October 22, albeit three decades apart.  This niece was also born on a special date in the history of my love story with my husband: she was born on the anniversary of "Will you go with me?"--which I blogged about once before, if you're at all interested in checking that out.   And best of all, our niece and her husband named the baby after her beloved grandmother, my husband's late mother.  Needless to say, the whole Pearl family was touched and teary-eyed hearing that this sweet newborn baby girl would have the honor of sharing a name with Grandma--a woman responsible for rearing a pretty incredible string of Pearls who have all kept their Catholic Faith and gone on to have large and loving families of their own.

There are so many blessings abounding in our family these days, especially when it comes to our children and their cousins.  There's so much to be proud of, so much to be happy about.  Birthdays, weddings, engagements, career successes, military accomplishments, new babies...I said it the other day, but I'll say it again:

I usually try to link up with Jessica over at Housewifespice for What We're Reading Wednesday, but all I've been reading today is Goodnight Moon and Sandra Boynton board books (not that those aren't terrific in their own way!).  Maybe I'll join the link-up again next week.  But for now, I must go--the twins will be awake soon, and then it's play time!