Battling Aviophobia

Isn't this shrine to Our Blessed Mother magnificent?! My husband and I went to see it last Sunday afternoon on our way back from the airport in Boston (the day after our "date night" in Atlanta, when my husband flew down to meet me because I got stuck there as I was making my way back home from our oldest son's home in AL).

For the past 21 years, every time we've driven to or from the airport, we've passed a huge billboard sign that reads: "ON THIS HISTORICAL SITE, 35 FT. STATUE, Madonna Queen, National Shrine, TURN NEXT RIGHT."

I can't count the number of times I've said to my husband, "I wonder what that's all about. I really want to see that statue someday." But usually, we're in a hurry to get where we're going, so we'll decide to do it another time. Well, that time finally came last Sunday...and I have to tell you, it was spectacular. The above photo doesn't begin to do it justice; you have to see it in person to get the full effect. This gigantic floating image of Mary the Queen of Heaven is framed by bricks and "crowned" in gold, and it sits on a hill that overlooks the city. It's enormous and beautiful and absolutely awe-inspiring. Hard to describe, really. So if you're ever in the vicinity of East Boston, MA, you should check it out.

I thought I was going to be passing that big blue and white sign once again this morning, because I had decided to accompany my husband on a three-day trip to Amsterdam. I'd rather avoid flying at all costs; but now that our kids are grown and out of the house, I want to spend as much time with my guy as I can. Since he has to live so much of his life out of a suitcase--and has done so throughout his long airline career, sacrificing all that time away from home to provide for his sons and me--I'm trying to learn to become a frequent flier. (You know, for the team.) I'm sure that most people would think I was a complete fool if I hesitated for even a minute to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to Amsterdam. However, I was feeling a little nervous about today's flight; I even thought about coming up with excuses for why I shouldn't go. I'm sure if I tried hard enough, I could come up with a plethora of plausible excuses.

Part of me was excited about the trip. Even though I'd just accompanied my husband to Amsterdam back in late January, I was looking forward to the royal treatment in business class on the way over (because that's how I roll, people), and to attending a Latin High Mass with him tomorrow at a Catholic church near the crew hotel. I was also looking forward to another top-notch Italian dinner tomorrow night at San Remo's--and checking in on the restaurant's cat-in-residence (the one I wrote about in a blog post on February 2, 2012). My husband has been to Amsterdam since our trip together, and he says our little feline dinner companion is still prowling the San Remo's dining room.

Yet part of me, as always, was getting the jitters. (Remember that scene from the slapstick comedy "Airplane," where the plane is going down, and the passengers are watching a movie showing a plane crashing and bursting into flames? That's the very movie that was playing in my head last night.)

I guess you could say I dodged a bullet, though; my husband woke up feeling under the weather this morning and had to call in sick for this trip. I'm a bit relieved, because I'd rather spend time with him--nursing him, if necessary--right here in our house...on the ground, where we belong. But I'm also surprised to find myself feeling slightly bummed out that I won't be going to Amsterdam today. Do you suppose that means I'm beginning to conquer my aviophobia?

I'm going to keep battling it, that's for sure. And every time we drive past that billboard on the way to the airport, I'm going to remember this beautiful shrine with the 35 ft. Madonna Queen statue. And it will remind me to pray to Mother Mary, asking Her to give me faith and courage when I travel by plane.

Even When They Walk, They Do a Kind of Dance

I've always been so proud to be able to say that I am the mother of five sons.

I was busy raising four little guys when one of my husband's sisters got serious with a young man (now her husband) who was the baby in a family of five boys. As soon as I heard that about him, I thought his mother was so lucky, and I became enchanted with the idea of having another boy.

Well, Somebody up there was listening, because before long, I was pregnant. From the get-go, my husband and I were pretty sure it was a boy--by that point, we figured that boys were just what we do--and when a sonogram confirmed this, I was actually thrilled with the news. People inevitably thought that we were "trying for our girl" and must be disappointed about the sonogram results, but we were absolutely fine. I had had this idea of a fifth son in my head ever since I'd met my sister-in-law's husband, so as far as I was concerned, things were happening exactly the way they should.

It's interesting, being surrounded by all males--I will say that. Never a dull moment. Never boring. For instance, here are some rejects (the photos, not the kids!) from a photo shoot in 2000, when I was trying to get a nice picture of the boys for our family Christmas card.
I did eventually get a nice, normal picture, with all of them looking at the camera, smiling like the angels they were...but we had to go through this for awhile first.

One of the most touching books I've ever read is a work of non-fiction called Of Time and Memory, by Don J. Snyder. The author's mother died at nineteen, shortly after giving birth to him and his twin brother. He was told little about her by his father, who was devastated by her death. In his forties, Snyder goes back to her old hometown to find people who knew her during her short life, and he begins to not only come to know his mother, but also to learn about his parents' poignant love story. While he's interviewing all of her old relatives and friends, he finds out that his mother once confided to a friend that she wanted to have six boys. She babysat often for her young nephews, whom she adored, and here is how Snyder describes this love she had for boys: "Boys; she loved their inexhaustible energy. The way their imaginations were just beginning to take hold--explorers sliding their canoes into the clear, cold water. They were always moving; even when they walked they were doing a kind of dance. She liked boys emphatically, felt she understood them...She admired the way they disdained convention, defied time, challenged even the force of gravity. Boys, not girls, because a daughter might inherit her fears, be too much like her." That passage always makes me get a lump in my throat. I feel like Snyder is describing me when he talks about his mother.

That being said, I have finally been blessed with "my girls": my twin baby granddaughters Bonny and Kewpie. And I wouldn't trade a moment of those years raising my boys--but now I feel that my life is truly complete. Now I get to enjoy the kinds of things that were missing in my rough-and-tumble household, like sugar and spice and everything nice. Like dolls, tea parties, frilly dresses, hair ribbons, patent leather shoes, and high-pitched little mousie voices. Like lots of pink and purple. And someday, hopefully, girls-only activities like shopping expeditions and coffee klatsches!

But I do adore those five boys of mine, and I hope they know it.

Winter Blues

After one of the least snowy winters that I can remember, we are getting buried in the white stuff today. We did have a white Halloween, due to a freakishly early major storm; then we had a brown Christmas, followed by relatively mild weather throughout January and February; but now, wouldn't you know, just as all of us New Englanders were ready to breathe a sigh of relief and start looking forward to springtime, Old Man Winter decided to make his presence known with a vengeance.

Whom can we blame? Punxsutawney Phil? (Speaking of good old Phil, don't you love the movie "Groundhog Day"? But I digress...)

That's my second oldest son's car parked in our driveway, blanketed with snow. He's on a week-long winter break from his high school teaching job, and he came over on Tuesday to spend a little time with his father and me. He had planned to leave this morning, but the roadways around here are extremely treacherous--so it looks like he's going to be stuck for another day. As much as I love having him around, I feel terrible that this rassa-frassin' New England weather is keeping him from getting back home to his apartment about an hour south of here. He had some things he had to take care of, and now he'll have to put them off for another day.

Selfishly, I must admit, I'm glad that I'm going to have some manpower around to help me dig out when the snow finally stops falling. Before he left for a two-day trip this morning, my husband got up at the crack of dawn to snowblow the driveway, which already had about five inches of accumulation; but there's been no let-up since then, and there's definitely going to be a round two as far as snow removal. My pathetic arm muscles, capable of only about a dozen girls' push-ups at a time before they need a rest, don't have the strength to budge the snowblower, so I was planning on a couple of grueling hours of shoveling. When my son decided he'd probably stay until tomorrow, my spirit rejoiced. He's got the upper body strength to work that blessed snowblower.

Two of my sons have moved to VA in recent years, where the weather is much friendlier. (One son and his wife are also currently living in Alabama, although that's more the Army's choice than theirs.) They're probably thinking, "Thank goodness we don't have to deal with all that nonsense down here!" But the snow is beautiful. And it's not so bad, as long as you can afford to hole up in your cozy nest while the storm rages and ride it out...in a bathrobe...with a good book...preferably with a fire in the fireplace...

Some winters, we get pounded by so many Nor'easters that by now, we've all got the winter blues. But since this winter has been so kind to us so far, I'm going to try to keep my complaining to a minimum!

Taking a Leap

Today is February 29, "Leap Day," which is an extra day added during a Leap Year. Every four years is a Leap Year in our modern Gregorian calendar, and so in 2012 there are 366 days instead of the usual 365.

Now I'm going to play Bill Nye the Science Guy and explain that the earth actually turns roughly 365 and a quarter times on its axis, not just 365 times, by the time it has completed a full year's orbit around the sun. So that means that periodically, the calendar has to catch up. Thus, the invention of Leap Years.

There is an interesting 5th century Irish legend regarding Leap Day. The story goes that St. Brigid (or Bridget) complained to St. Patrick about how unfair it was for women to have to wait so long for a man to propose. So St. Patrick struck a deal with her and said that on this one day in February during Leap Year, females could be the ones to propose. I suppose the point was to balance the traditional roles of men and women, just as Leap Day balances the calendar; but I'd call putting that gutsy role-reversal into practice taking a giant leap of faith. Men who refused such a proposal (I'd call that saying "you can go take a flying leap") on Leap Day, also known as "Bachelor's Day," had to pay a penalty.

There are records of the practice in 13th century Scotland as well. Women were allowed to propose marriage to the man of their choice on Leap Day, and it was actually made law that any man who declined such a proposal must pay a fine--it could be simply a kiss, or payment for a pair of gloves or a silk gown. (Do you suppose that some gals might have proposed to guys they knew would turn them down just to get themselves fancy new frocks?)

I'm surprised that St. Brigid pushed for such a thing, actually, because I think even in our modern world, women--even those who call themselves feminists--like the idea of the man being the one who's down on one knee, with a diamond ring in his hand. I admit that I'm an old-fashioned girl and I like the traditional way. What do you think? Should marriage proposals come from ring-bearing men on bended knees, or should women be allowed (that's the wrong word to use in this day and age, but you know what I mean) to do the asking?

It just occurred to me that if only I'd been born on a Leap Day, I'd be going on 14 right now instead of going on 54. But I guess it doesn't really work that way, does it? Ah, well. We won't have another day like this until 2016--so until then, Happy Leap Day!

Wise Words from WTP

I believe that Winnie the Pooh, A. A. Milne's lovable "Bear of Very Little Brain," is one of the wisest philosophers of all time. I ran across some quotes from good old Pooh Bear recently, and in light of how I've been feeling the past few days, they were right on target.

You see, I'm sad because on Saturday I had to say goodbye to my two little peanuts, after having the privilege of spending three whole weeks in their company.

I miss my sweet Bonny Babe:

I miss my impish little Kewpie:

Look at them: they're feeding themselves solid food already! (If baby rice rusks can be considered actual food...) In the three weeks I spent with them, they seemed to be growing and changing before my eyes! What next? Walking? Talking? Leaving for college? And because of the distance between us, with every goodbye I'm aware that the next time I see them, they'll be different--and they may not remember me.

But how lucky I am to have these two granddaughters! To quote Winnie the Pooh: "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

He's a wise old soul, our Pooh. He also said this, which perfectly describes what's in my full-to-bursting heart when I look at these pictures of the girls: "Some people care too much. I think it's called love."

The Long Road Home

Sunday morning, from the Marriott Courtyard near the Atlanta airport:
Early Saturday morning, after spending three grand weeks with them, I said a sad farewell to my twin granddaughters (their mommy and daddy, too). The plan was for me to fly from a tiny regional airport in AL to Boston (with a stop in Atlanta) and meet up with my husband, who was returning from a trip to Amsterdam, and then we were going to drive home from there together...But after getting as far as Atlanta, I got stuck. Every single flight from that uber-crowded airport (a real people watcher's paradise!) to Boston--or NY, or pretty much everywhere that would help me get further north--was overbooked, and it soon became obvious that there was no way I was going to get out of there that day. So instead of heading to Boston after his overseas flight landed in NY, my husband flew down to Atlanta for a "date night" with me (dinner at the airport Chili's) so I wouldn't have to spend the night alone in the hotel.

That's right: we met for a date in Atlanta. I think that officially makes us a couple of jet-setters.

The last thing my husband wants to do when he's returning from a three-day trip, tired and anxious to get home, is board another airplane--heading in the wrong direction! But he made that sacrifice for me. I may have said this before, but he's my hero.

Oh, the joys of non-revving (being a non-revenue passenger flying stand-by)! The perk of free airline tickets for airline employees and their families is an enviable one, I know; without it, there is no way I would have been able to see my darling Bonnie Babe and Kewpie (the baby formerly known as Cutie Pie) as often as I have since they made their entrance into the world in June of 2011. But it can be a real pain in the neck sometimes. When you're non-revving, it's always advisable to have a good, long book with you, in case you get bumped from a flight and have to kill a lot of time at the airport waiting to try for the next one. That being said, even paying customers are sometimes inconvenienced these days. On Saturday, harried gate agents in Atlanta were offering cash and other enticing rewards to volunteers willing to give up their seats on the flights I was hoping to get on; and right there I knew that I, a mere lowly non-revver, didn't have a chance in h-e-double toothpicks of ending up with a seat.

Oops, better end here--it's time to head over to the airport.

Continued, Monday morning from home sweet home:
Well, I made it! It was a long road (make that sky) home for me--four legs in all, from a small regional airport in AL to Atlanta to NY to Boston--but my husband and I were together for the last two legs, and by Sunday afternoon, we were safely back in the beloved nest we've been feathering for the past 21 years. I am so happy that I was able to help my son and his wife as they went through the process of setting up their temporary home in AL, but it's good to be home. And I can't wait until they, too, get to set down permanent roots for their wonderful little family.

My fear of flying has been well-documented on this blog, so if you've read it much you know that this four-leg trip home was no picnic for me. But I must say, I've spent so much time on airplanes the past two years or so that I'm beginning to cope with the fear a lot better than I used to. And this may sound strange, but while I don't enjoy flying, I do love airports. Not puny ones that offer little more than a vending machine to weary travelers, like the one in AL that I flew out of on Saturday; I mean big ones, like the airport in Atlanta. I love having enough time between flights to grab a coffee and browse through the little shops, especially the bookstores. I found my husband's favorite cowboy hat, a beautiful brown leather one, at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport; I've found some of the best books I've ever read at various airport bookstores. At the airport, I feel like I'm on the streets of some shiny little city (where all the residents are always in a big hurry), and strolling along those busy streets seems fun, especially as it delays--for a little while, at least--the inevitable dreaded flight to come. My husband does not share this feeling with me, understandably, because his job requires him to spend more time in airports than any human being should have to spend. He'd rather have somewhat tight but workable connections between flights, thank you very much. But I love airports, I do. I must be some kind of weirdo.

While walking through the Atlanta airport Saturday, waiting for my husband to arrive, I saw a storefront that reminded me of home.

Years ago, I painted similar trompe l'oeil exposed bricks on some walls in my family room and kitchen. (My youngest son, a grade schooler at the time, asked me why I wanted to make our house look like it was falling apart. He just didn't get it.)So when I saw that charming airport candy store with the same decorative paint effect, I just had to take a picture of it. See, this is why I enjoy spending time at the airport. I'd so much rather look at cute little shops than clouds...or fields that really do resemble a patchwork quilt...or cars and houses the size of Monopoly pieces...

How about you? What would you rather do: fly, or hang out in an airport? (Go ahead, discuss. Tawk amongst yourselves.)

Missing Ronald Reagan

Our Lord died for us; now we must fight for Him!

Back in March of 2011, when I decided to become a blogger and sat down to write my first post for "String of Pearls," I made a decision to steer clear of political topics and keep my humble little blog focused on matters of Faith, family, and a smattering of other safe topics that interest me--like art, books, sports, crafts, recipes, etc. With only one or two brief hints about how I feel regarding certain hot-button issues that dominate the news these days (they snuck in there somehow, despite my best efforts), I have held strong to my original plans for this blog.

But I can't really keep quiet now. The president has brazenly declared war on the Catholic Church and her followers. On all Americans, really; because if he wins this war, the effects will ultimately be felt by people of all creeds: they will realize what has been lost is the cherished freedom of religion that was granted to each and every citizen in this great land of ours via the First Ammendment to the Constitution. President Obama did promise us, when he was campaigning to win the 2008 election, that he would "fundamentally change" our country; so it should come as no surprise that he is actually setting out to do just that. For those who were seduced by the mantra of "hope and change," I can only think of that old saying: be careful what you wish for.

If you own a T.V. set or a computer, or you read a daily newspaper, you've probably heard that President Obama plans to force Catholic hospitals to provide coverage for contraception, sterilization, and abortion services as part of basic "health care" for their employees. If they refuse to comply (as they should, in good conscience) they would have a choice: to pay burdensome fines; or to fire all non-Catholic employees and hire only Catholic ones (and furthermore, they would no longer be allowed to treat non-Catholic patients). If this bill is passed, Catholic institutions that have served so many for so long could be forced to close their doors under the financial strain caused by these new restrictions. The Catholic Church is the largest private provider of health care in this country; there are more than 600 Catholic hospitals in the U.S., serving 5.5 million patients (roughly 20% of all hospital admissions). The closing of so many hospitals would be truly devastating. Since President Obama can't possibly wish to lose all those hospitals (can he?), he must be banking on the belief that Catholic hospital administrators will cave under the pressure, give in, and start offering employee health coverage for drugs and procedures that go directly against the teachings of the Church. Other private Catholic institutions, like parochial schools, are also being targeted in the president's plan.

The U.S. Catholic bishops are understandably outraged; they have formed a united front in trying to fight President Obama's anti-Catholic directive, and they're calling on the faithful to speak out against this attack on their freedoms. Of course, the best way to make voices heard loud and clear is at the voting booths in November.

Catholics should be outraged, right along with their bishops, about the president's attempt to strip them of the freedom to practice their religion in peace, without government interference. And Americans of other faiths should be very afraid of what it could mean for them, too, sometime in the not-too-distant future, if President Obama is successful in his attempt to cripple the Catholic Church in America.

I don't know about you, but right now I'm missing our 40th president, Ronald Reagan, who was quoted as saying, "Freedom prospers when religion is vibrant and the rule of law under God is acknowledged." That right there says it all, doesn't it? We could really use another leader like him.

(By the way, if you want to read a great book about Reagan that will turn you into a fan if you aren't one already, I recommend When Character Was King, by Peggy Noonan.)