Happy Birthday to My First "Best Friend"

Growing up in the 60's and 70's, the photo booth was to young folks what the digital camera (or cell phone camera) is to kids today: instant gratification. We could mug, put up "bunny ears" behind each other's heads, giggle hysterically, or just smile our "cheese" smiles, and we had our photos in hand within minutes of when they'd been snapped. These photo booth pictures are iconic images of our youth for those of us of a certain age. I can't imagine there's anyone from my generation who doesn't have at least a few of these strips of black and white pictures, arranged in vertical columns of four, lying around somewhere--be it in a trunk in the attic, in a shoebox, or in a scrapbook. Sometimes, we would cut the strips so that we could share them with friends, just as kids share photos with each other on Facebook nowadays.

The three photo booth pictures above are of me and my first true "best friend," all taken before we were in high school. We met as students at a Catholic grade school when we were both 10, and that was 43 years ago! Wow, that doesn't seem possible! My family had had a bit of a nomadic lifestyle up until that point, with homes in New Jersey, Delaware, and New York. We moved to the town in Upstate New York that became our permanent home when I was just about to start 5th grade, and that is when I met this dear friend. From the beginning, we just clicked. And today is my friend's birthday, so I wanted to dedicate today's post to her.

There's nothing like those friends you make during your school days; there is that bond forged with people who "knew you when" that can never quite be duplicated with friends you make as an adult. In the 1988 movie "Everybody's All-American," Dennis Quaid (whom I've always liked as an actor) plays a college football superstar who moves on to play in the NFL. At one point in the movie, when he's been a pro for awhile, he's feeling jaded and wondering who his real friends are; and he comments to his cousin, "You think you're gonna go through your whole life making close friends, like [the ones you make when you're a kid]. You don't. It's just somethin' that happens to you when you're young." I thought that was a touching speech when I first saw the movie, and I think in many ways, it's true. How can I ever become as close to a woman I meet today as I was to this old friend of mine, the girl with whom I stayed up talking late into the night on countless sleepovers at each other's houses?

My friend and I have so many shared experiences, some rather hilarious. For instance, in junior high, we bought our first--ahem!--supportive undergarments together. (I, for one, was too mortified to tell my mother I thought I needed one, so I decided to sneak off and buy it for myself with my babysitting money!) We had no idea what sizes we could possibly need, but we tried on some lacy underthings until we found what worked for us. The kind, helpful, wise saleslady handed us some shopping bags through the dressing room curtain and said that if we'd like to wear our new ones home, we could put our old ones in the bags. "Thank you very much," we said, and we proceeded to puff up the bags to look like they had something in them. Then we made our purchases and strolled proudly out of the store, carrying empty bags and wearing the proof of our budding womanhood. Isn't that a great story? I mean, you can't make this stuff up! And there will never be another female friend with whom I can share both the hilarity of that particular shopping expedition and the poignancy of crossing that line from little girl to young woman.

After college, marriage, and babies, my friend and I found it practically impossible to get together. For some of those years, we lived far apart. For the past 20 years or so, we've been separated by a mere four-hour drive; but with the hustle and bustle of family life, most of the time we might as well be halfway across the country from one another. I was raising my five boys and she was raising two daughters and a son. And she was faced with a situation that every mother dreads: her son was diagnosed with leukemia when he was about nine and waged a long, tough battle against it. He is healthy now--thanks be to God!--and he's a thriving sophomore at an Ivy League college. For all she went through and the grace with which she did so, I admire my friend tremendously and consider her a hero. She is a fiercely loving mother, just as she was always a fiercely loving friend.

The great thing about old friends who've known you forever is that when you do finally manage to get together, it doesn't matter how many years have passed. You feel like you're picking up right where you left off.

So, here's to old friends! And Happy Birthday to my very oldest friend, my first "best friend."

A Patriotic Doorway

I love this picture, because it is of a doorway that is not only very beautiful, but one that holds special memories for our family. I've been waiting for the perfect day to use it in a post, and I can't think of a more fitting time to do so than today, Memorial Day.

This is one of the doors to the Sacred Heart Basilica at the University of Notre Dame out in South Bend, IN. And by the way, talk about a place that's chock-full of holy pictures and statues, and how these beautiful images help those who see them "ascend more easily in spirit to Heaven"! (For more on this topic, see May 15, "The Veneration of Holy Images.") The glorious beauty and splendor of Sacred Heart Basilica takes your breath away, it really does. As great as it is to see the inside of the football stadium on game day, with the enormous "Touchdown Jesus" mosaic that graces the library visible in the endzone, it would be a shame to visit the campus and leave without seeing the inside of this magnificent church.

Notre Dame has always been a staunch supporter of our military. They have ROTC units for the Army, Navy, and Air Force on campus. Several of my sons and nieces, after completing four years in ROTC programs, have had their commissioning ceremonies--have become officers in the U.S. Army and Navy--right in front of this door.

I love the saying carved in stone under the arch--a fitting tribute for people who are faithful Catholics, patriots, and diehard Irish fans all rolled into one: God, Country, Notre Dame. (I would, however, amend it to read: God, Family, Country, Notre Dame. If that's what was inscribed on there, this doorway would be quite perfect!)

On this day, we remember all those brave men and women who've served in the military; we remember those who've given their lives for their country; and we pray for our troops who are scattered around the globe, doing what they do with heroic selflessness and courage. God bless our troops! God bless America!

Mary's Fiat

When the Archangel Gabriel appeared to Mary to tell Her that She had been chosen to become the Mother of God, She could have said no; but She didn't. Her response was: "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord. Let it be done to me according to your word." (Luke 1:38) This was Mary's yes; it is called Her fiat, which in Latin means "let it be done." As Robert Wenderski writes in "She Could Have Said No," an article in the May/June 2011 issue of Lay Witness, "...what if she politely declined, claiming unworthiness? The consequences are imponderable--all what we now call salvation history vanishes."

Mary's role in mankind's redemption is key. As Wenderski says, "God could have chosen any number of ways to redeem fallen humanity. He chose the best way. God wanted to become one of us, to assume human nature, so as to possess a human intellect and a human will. He desired to take a human body and be 'born of a woman.'"

Some non-Catholics cannot understand why Catholics venerate and pray to Our Blessed Mother. They believe that devotion to Mary takes away from devotion to Jesus; but nothing could be further from the truth. The two of them, Mother and Son, are inextricably intertwined. She is a Mediatrix; because Her Son loves His Mother, He will do what She asks, if it is for the good of our souls. (Remember, Jesus' first public miracle--the changing of the water into wine at the wedding feast at Cana--was performed at the request of His Mother.) When we pray to Mary, we are entreating Her to intercede for us with Her Divine Son. As Wenderski puts it, "Our Lady mediates grace (that Jesus merited) through her prayer. So, our heavenly Mother does for us now what she did for her Son when she walked this earth. She does everything she can to aid us."

When Mary visited her cousin Elizabeth (where She stayed for three months until the birth of Her cousins's son, John the Baptist), Elizabeth cried, "Blest are you among women and blest is the fruit of your womb." (Luke 1:42) Mary's joyous response to her cousin's greeting, also found in Luke's gospel, is known as the "Canticle of Mary" or the "Magnificat." Here are the first five lines of this beautiful prayer:

My soul magnifies the Lord,

And My spirit rejoices in God my Savior.

For He has regarded the low estate of His handmaiden,

For behold, henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.

For He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is His name.

She was a humble virgin who became the Queen of Heaven. She is the loving Mother of all mankind. But without Mary's fiat, where would we be? Because Mary said yes, God's Son came into the world and Heaven was opened to humanity. Thank you, loving Intercessor and Mediatrix! Thank you, dear Mother! And Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death. Amen!

Art Appreciation

I've always loved Norman Rockwell paintings. Some might say he's not a real "artist's artist," like a Michelangelo, a da Vinci, or a Monet. But whenever I look at one of his works, I am filled with pure and utter happiness. He had a way of capturing everyday moments of life in America with such poignancy and sweetness! (And in his paintings, all of his adorable little boys have heads shaped just like my middle son's head was shaped when he was a sprat. My boy could have been one of his models, no kidding.)

Norman Rockwell has been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember. I have books and calendars filled with his artwork. I have framed Rockwell prints, porcelain figurines, and even dishes that display his paintings--many of them gifts I received from loved ones and therefore cherish that much more. I will forever be a Rockwell fan!

Why anyone would purchase a Picasso over a Rockwell is beyond me. I don't care if some critics believe that Picasso's work (or worse yet, Jackson Pollock's!) is more deep and meaningful than Norman Rockwell's, or that it displays a more unique brand of talent. I just don't enjoy looking at it; and shouldn't art, above all else, be enjoyable?

So I'm not into the modern stuff, but I do appreciate many kinds of art. And I love to paint. If I could just have as much talent as Norman Rockwell had in his pinkie finger--or in the fingernail of his pinkie finger, or in the half-moon-shaped white part of the fingernail of his pinkie finger--I'd be on cloud 9!

On a sidenote, yesterday I got an update from my daughter-in-law after her most recent appointment. Her doctor says that the twins' arrival will be any day now. Oh boy! I can't wait to meet them, to find out what they look like, to see what kind of personalities and interests they'll have. Will they someday be musically gifted like their mother, who can play the flute, piano, and accordion? Will they sit for hours drawing detailed pictures of animals and dinosaurs like their father used to do? Or will they have some new interest all their own, one that runs in neither family? All I know is this: to me, those babies are going to be more beautiful than any work of art.

Facing the End of an Era

People have been asking me a lot lately if I'm doing okay, now that my youngest son is about to graduate from high school. "Are you sad?" they'll probe, with a sympathetic look, or "How are you holding up?" They've been making me feel a tad guilty, as if I'm a cold fish or something; because for some reason, I've been surprisingly calm about the whole thing, as if God has prepared me for this huge change that is about to take place. 

I don't really like change--which is tough, because things are always changing.  But I've been thinking that there's a time for everything, and it seems like the time is ripe now for moving on to the next phase of life. After all, I have a married son, I'm about to become a grandmother, and three of my grown sons have moved to faraway places. My husband and I have talked about this quite a bit, about how we're sort of looking forward to the incredible freedom we'll have to hit the road whenever we feel like it to visit all of our far-flung offspring (which will soon include my youngest, actually, since he'll be at a college about 17 hours from home).

I mean, we've been at this school business a long, long time. Our oldest son started kindergarten in September of 1989, and our youngest will finish high school in June of 2011. That means we've had kids in school for 22 years (now I feel old!); it's an era that has spanned four decades--the 1980's, 1990's, 2000's, and 2010's. When you think of it that way, it seems like eons. That's a lot of permission slips, progress reports, parent-teacher nights, and brown bag lunches! Yes, I get nostalgic when I look back on all the wonderful things that have happened during these 20-plus years; but there are some things about having kids in school that I won't miss at all, and it's that aspect that I've been focusing on lately. So incredibly, I've been feeling mellow, peaceful, and as if--for once--I might be able to get through a bittersweet ending to a really great time in my husband's and my life without a lot of crying.

Oh, how naive I was!

Yesterday, I was out running errands in my big red van, thinking deep thoughts  (as I often do while driving by myself--when I'm not listening to Rush Limbaugh or singing, poorly, at the top of my lungs). Out of nowhere, it hit me: it was the last day of classes for my baby, the last official day of school. I was thunderstruck, and sitting there in my van, the tears began to flow.

The actual schoolwork is over for son #5. Yesterday, he said his good-byes to the underclassmen he won't see in the hallways anymore. Today, he's on a senior field trip to an amusement park; next week is packed with fun senior week activities, followed by a couple of days of graduation practice and early releases; and finally, the graduation ceremony will take place over the weekend. What I'd like to know is this: how in the world did we get here?!

The boy who I thought I'd have with me forever is getting ready to leave the nest, and I don't know how I'm going to handle that. I don't think I'm going to be a rock after all. This child is the one who came along after a big break (there are only four years and three months between sons #1 and #4; between #4 and this one, there are five years). He was the greatest surprise we ever got, the icing on the cake, the person who completed our family. He's the one my husband and I had the privilege and pleasure of homeschooling from 4th through 8th grade. And now, his boyhood school days are coming to an end. It's the end of an era not only for him, but for his parents as well.

On the one hand, I feel exceptionally lucky that my husband and I both cherished the time we had with our boys and appreciated how wonderful our life was when they were growing up; and on the other hand, I feel hoodwinked and disbelieving, and I find myself asking that age-old question that all parents of grown children ask: "Where did the time go?"

What happened to frightened little boys diving into bed with us during thunderstorms? When was the last time one of them picked dandelions for me, or climbed into my lap? Or needed help learning his spelling words? When did they all grow taller than their father? Get deep voices? Learn to drive? And how can it be that my baby boy will be leaving us in a few short months?

Okay, enough wallowing. I've got to remind myself to focus on the sweet rather than the bitter--to realize that just as my son's upcoming commencement marks a new beginning for him, it's a new beginning for my husband and me, too. I'll be all right. I will!  But I'm going to need a lot of help from God. And a lot of tissues.

More on the Grandparent Thing

That was just too much fun talking about the whole grandparenting thing in yesterday's post, so I had to put up a few more quotes today--ones that didn't make the cut yesterday, but made my husband laugh when I read them to him aloud after I'd already pushed the "publish post" tab.

"Grandparents are there to help the child get into mischief they haven't thought of yet." -Gene Perret

"'You're more trouble than the children are' is the greatest compliment a grandparent can receive." -Gene Perret [I'd like to meet this Gene Perret, whoever he is, because he has made some hilarious observations about being a grandfather.]

Several years ago, when our son was newly engaged and grandchildren weren't even on the horizon yet, my husband and I were in a drugstore and saw this huge selection of funny t-shirts for wee ones. We were so amused by the sayings on the shirts that we ended up buying four of them in size 2T to put away for the far-off (or as it turned out, not so far-off) day when we would become grandparents. We wanted to buy one of each style, but finally managed to narrow it down to four t-shirts; my personal favorite is the one on the left in the above picture, and my husband's is on the right.

Just by buying these t-shirts, it seems we're already getting our grandchildren into "mischief they haven't thought of yet"! I hope their parents will have lots of patience with us.

Here is one more gem I came across in my travels; I love it because it makes me think of my husband and how much fun he's going to have playing with his grandkids: "To a small child, the perfect granddad is unafraid of big dogs and fierce storms but absolutely terrified of the word 'boo.'" -Robert Brault

If that is the description of a perfect granddad, my husband is the man for the job. And I'm looking forward to hearing our grandchildren squealing and giggling during games of "Tackle on the 45," "Mighty Mungus," "Sack of Potatoes," and "Booshz Booshz." (I don't even know how to spell that last game, which is one of my husband's own creation--but our boys will know what I'm talking about.)

The Joy of Being a Grandparent

Here's one of those great Irish Proverbs (you just gotta love the Irish!): "Children are the rainbow of life; grandchildren are the pot of gold." [I think the guy in the picture above realized this without being told!]

I don't know this from firsthand experience yet, but I've watched my own parents and my husband's parents, and as much as they love us, I think they'd agree with Lois Wyse, who said: "If I had known how wonderful it would be to have grandchildren, I'd have had them first."

With the birth of my own first grandchildren (my oldest son's twins) imminent, I can't help but think about becoming a grandparent and what that means. I've come across some pithy words of wisdom on the subject that I thought I'd share.

"Grandmas are moms with lots of frosting." -Author Unknown [By the way, I love this one and will be happy to work hard at doing my part in this regard.]

"Grandfathers are just antique little boys." -Author Unknown

"Grandmas never run out of hugs or cookies." -Author Unknown [If there's one thing I can do, it's cookies.]

"Grandfathers are for loving and fixing things." -Author Unknown

"No cowboy was ever faster than a grandparent pulling a baby picture out of a wallet." -Author Unknown [Note to my husband here: Just think how cool YOU'LL look doing it, "Papa," because you'll actually be WEARING A COWBOY HAT!]

''Grandchildren don't stay young forever, which is good because Pop-pops have only so many horsey rides in them." -Gene Perret [And they have only so many games of "Tackle on the 45" in them, too, I'll bet.]

"Grandchildren are the dots that connect the lines from generation to generation." -Lois Wyse

"Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old." -Mary H. Waldrip

"It's amazing how grandparents seem so young once you become one." -Author Unknown [How very true!]

There are so many great sayings about the joy of grandparenting, I could go on for pages. But this will suffice for today!