Theme Thursday: W

 



 

I thought I'd link up with Cari over at Clan Donaldson today, to pay tribute to the wonderful letter W.

 

Papa was reading an alphabet book to our twin granddaughters this morning, and did you know that W is for wiggly worm (and that he had two such creatures sitting on his lap at the time, too)?

 

W is also for wise (beyond their years), which describes my little angels, who've known all the letters of the alphabet for ages already, and they aren't even two-and-a-half yet!  (So W is for WOW!!, as well!)

 

Now head on over to Cari's, where I'm sure you'll find plenty of wicked wacky W-themed posts today.

 



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!

Back in the USA!

We've been out of town and out of Internet service for a couple of days, in case you're wondering why I'm such a slacker when it comes to keeping up with this blog.

But today, I've got WiFi--and I'm glad, because I've got happy news to report.

Six months ago, my #4 son (an Army Reservist and also a civilian contractor who works in the field of military intelligence) left for Afghanistan, and at the time it seemed that he would be gone forever.  I wrote a post about him shortly after he'd left, which you can read here if you're new to this site (or if you'd like to give that post a look-see again--and it's worth it, if only to get a glimpse of his utterly adorable first grade picture).

Yesterday, our boy was finally on US soil once again, thank the Lord.  And last night, we were able to meet up with him at a base in Indiana.  It just so happens that we were out at Notre Dame with our youngest son for the ND-USC game on Saturday (and in spite of losing quarterback Tommy Rees to injury in the second half, ND hung on to win it 14-10--woo hoo!), and we only had to drive about four hours on Sunday to welcome son #4 back to the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

Here's a picture of our brave returning hero with his dad and baby brother.

He didn't cut his hair for the whole deployment...so do you think he was over there in his role as an Army lieutenant or as a contractor?

He's already been accused of looking like Ashton Kucher with this new do, and this is most decidedly NOT a compliment in his book--so it's a sure bet he'll be cutting those luxurious locks off toot sweet--if you'll excuse my French.  (Or at least by the time he has to drill with the Army in a couple of weeks!)

Today, my boy--a hero of whom we are very, very proud--flies down to VA, where his "fam" as he calls them (his devoted girlfriend and equally devoted dog) eagerly await his arrival.  They had a tough separation back in April.

It should be quite a reunion.

For all of you who've been praying for him, thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Now my husband, son #5, and I are off to CO to visit with son #1, who turns the big 3-0 tomorrow--yikes, I'm the mother of a thirty-year-old!  Our youngest boy is planning to spend his college break this week playing with his nieces and becoming their favorite uncle (because, yes, everything in our family is a competition!).

Have a great week, and hopefully I'll be checking in more often.

Happy Feast Day, St. Hedwig (a Day Late!)

Yesterday was the feast of St. Hedwig.  I didn't realize this until I was sitting with my husband in the pew before Mass started and I opened up my October edition of Magnificat to get prepared.  Here is what Magnificat reports about St. Hedwig (a saint with whom you may be familiar, but with whom I was not, I must admit, before yesterday morning):

Saint Hedwig was born in Bavaria around the year 1174.  She married a prince of Silesia and they had seven children.  She led a most devoted life, looking after the poor and the sick, and founding hospitals for them.  When her husband died, she entered the monastery of Trebnitz and died there in 1243.

I always like to read about women saints who were married and had lots of children, because it helps me to believe that no matter what your station in life (whether you're living "out in the world" or you're cloistered in a convent), sainthood is indeed achievable.  It helps me to believe that it is possible (not easy, but possible) to be in the world but not of the world--even if you're married to a prince.   Although Hedwig did live the later years of her life--after she was widowed in 1238--as a religious, for the better part of her time on earth her vocation was wife and mother. That's good news for regular folks like you and me who are living ordinary lives while striving to reach that glorious goal.

Of course, while raising seven children of her own, St. Hedwig was also founding hospitals for the poor and the sick...which is more than I have ever done or will ever do.  So I may have quite a long way to go before I cross the finish line...

St. Hedwig, pray for me!

Thinking about this saint with her unusual name got me to thinking about Hedy Lamarr, an actress who was known as the "Most Beautiful Woman in Films" during Hollywood's Golden Age, and wondering if Hedwig was perhaps her real name. (I remember my dad telling me that as a young movie-goer in the 40's, he had a boyhood crush on the raven-haired beauty.)   Sure enough, she was christened Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler when she was born in Vienna, Austria in 1914.*

It appears that even when you pick a saint's name for your daughter that isn't all that appealing on the surface (sorry, St. Hedwig--but yours, with its hard edges, isn't very melodious-sounding), you can come up with a nickname that is incredibly cute.  A granddaughter called Hedy?  Bring it on.  [Insert smiley face emoticon here.]

*Thanks, Google!

What We're Reading Wednesday: Where Real Life and Fiction Intersect (Part 3)

I've been so busy the past few days (so, sew busy--making three matching satin flower girl dresses for my middle son's upcoming wedding...but more about that another time).  I haven't been blogging, you might have noticed, or even reading other more productive bloggers' blogs.  I've just been hunched over my trusty Sears Kenmore sewing machine, stitching and zig-zagging to beat the band, or standing at my ironing board, tirelessly pressing seams flat; but I'm finished now, and happy with the results of my labors--and I'm in the mood to write.

And what better way to jump back into the blogging fray than linking up with my fellow book lovers over at Housewifespice, where you can go and see what everyone's reading today?  There is no better way, obviously.  Sometimes you find out all about some tomes you never even heard of before, so WWRW is a great place to discover noteworthy titles that you might not otherwise come across in your travels through Barnes & Noble.

I am actually working on way too many books at once this Wednesday, as you can see...

I'm only reading snippets of this and snippets of that, because like I said, I've been a sewing ninja lately.  But I recently finished Michelle Buckman's Death Panels: A Novel of Life, Liberty, and Faith, which I told you about here at the link-up last Wednesday.  It was good, but it didn't affect me nearly as strongly as some other books with similar themes have done in the past, books like Brave New World, 1984, The Lord of the World (by Msgr. Robert Hugh Benson, published in 1907)--and even Glenn Beck's fairly recent Agenda 21.  Maybe it's because the themes treated here have been done so well so many times already, or maybe it's because there is so much non-fictional horror taking place routinely in our modern world, that fictional accounts such as Death Panels no longer have the power to shock a reader like me.  Don't get me wrong: it's a well-written book and it outlines the tragic consequences in store for people who live under a tyrannical government with unlimited power in a world where the culture of death mindset is firmly entrenched.  It's a pretty terrifying look at what might be not that far down the road for our nation if we're not careful.  But it's also an uplifting look at the way good people can rise up to stop this kind of madness.  However, I still prefer the aforementioned futuristic tales--although you might read this one and think it does Brave New World and the like one better.

I'm still working my way through Henri Gheon's  The Truth about Therese: An Unflinching Look at Lisieux, the Little Flower, and the Little Way, a book I started quite a while ago.  It's a great book so far, and not a long one; but I seem to keep putting that one down and getting myself all wrapped up in others.  I am determined to finish it ASAP so that I can tell you what I think.  In this book, one is supposed to find the "real Therese, beneath the sugar roses and puffy clouds, behind the platitudes and pet-names that took all the salt out of her heroic story."  The author set out to reveal the "heroic grandeur" that lay behind her smile and all the "pretty-pretties," to show us the true reason she was canonized.  I am anxious to finish the book so that I can become better acquainted with this amazing saint, who died at 24 but has the distinction of being a Doctor of the Church.

I am also reading a book by one of my author e-friends, Victoria Carmichael.  I did a review of her sweet novel All the Blue of Heaven (which I  mentioned here at the link-up a while back), and since then we have been in touch back-and-forth on Facebook.  I ended up sending her a copy of Finding Grace for review, and just recently my husband and I returned from a week-long trip and--lo and behold--there was a package from her in our built-up stack of mail containing a copy of her novel Season of Hope.  When I wrote to thank her and ask her why she'd sent it, she said she'd received her box of author copies from the publisher and she thought of me, so it was just "for fun"!  (I continue to be amazed by the generosity of the authors I've "met"--both on-line and in the flesh--since FG came out.)  Season of Hope was published by Harlequin, and let me tell you right now that I have avoided that H-word my entire reading life, because I am a book snob of the highest order (I've avoided Danielle Steele and Stephanie Meyer with equal determination).  But it is well-written, without a speck of inappropriateness, and there is not one character in it who even remotely resembles Fabio--and I must say that I am enjoying it.  I liken it to a well-acted light romantic comedy at the movies--a PG one; it might not win the Academy Award, but it makes you leave the theater with a smile on your face.  This title is one in a series called "Love Inspired," and it is indeed quite inspirational and filled with Christian messages.  The characters are routinely shown praying to God for guidance and help--which is something I never thought I'd find in a Harlequin romance.  So shame on me for judging books by their covers.  Carmichael has another title in the "Love Inspired" series called Season of Joy, and I just might have to pick myself up a copy.  Oh, and she's also penned a novel called Purple Like the West, which has Catholic characters in it.  I might have to give that one a look-see as well.

My friend Victoria (who also writes under the pen name Mary Jane Hathaway) is quite a prolific author.  I can't imagine writing even one more book right this minute, much less multiple books.  I have some loose ideas for a sequel to Finding Grace, but so far I just can't bring myself to put in the kind of time and effort I know it will take to complete a gargantuan task such as that.  (For some talented people, writing a new book probably isn't a gargantuan undertaking; but for me, sadly, it is.)

Finally, another special author friend, Amy Bennett (the first person who left a great review on my Amazon page--that is, the first person who was not a family member or a friend, or who hadn't been asked by me to consider doing a review of my book), just did a book exchange with me and sent a signed copy of her new suspense novel End of the Road.  I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into it, and to post a review on her Amazon page.

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Okay, gang, this is a long (seemingly endless?) post already.  But I'm going to finish it up with installment #3 in the "Where Real Life and Fiction Intersect" series, wherein I give you the low-down on which elements of Finding Grace are just the teensiest bit autobiographical and which ones are completely fictitious (you can read installments  #1 and #2 here and here, if you're interested).  Recently, my husband and I were in our hometown for the funeral of his uncle, and we ran into our high school biology teacher (a woman I admired, and upon whom Grace Kelly's Latin teacher is very loosely based).  She told my husband that she'd seen my mother not long ago and that my mother had told her that my book is our story--as in the story of my husband and me and our high school romance.  Now, I don't want to give any spoilers for those of you who haven't read FG and might do so one day (fingers crossed!); but Grace Kelly and Tom Buckley's story is a far, far cry from ours.  My mother is not a liar; but as my husband told our old bio teacher, "If that's what she said, then she hasn't read it."  (I'm pretty sure this is the case, actually.)

I admit that when I set out to fashion a love interest for my heroine, I couldn't help but create a boy who resembled the one with whom I fell in love at the tender age of 15 and who has been my husband for going on 33 years now.  He's always been the only man for me, and therefore obviously my main character would be drawn to the same type!  So Tom Buckley is tall, handsome, athletic, smart, kind, funny, a good son, a devout Catholic--and he has a large space between his two front teeth.  These are all attributes he shares with my husband, who was my high school sweetheart.  Tom is patient, spending hours teaching athletically-challenged Grace how to ski; my husband did this for me when we were dating.  Tom is the high school class valedictorian; so was my husband (and the quotes from Tom's valedictory speech were taken from my husband's actual speech, with his permission).  But even with all of those similarities, as I got into the writing process Tom became a completely unique person to me (as did every other character who started out resembling someone I really knew).  And Tom is the baby in a family of 4 boys, unlike my husband, who is the second oldest in a family of 8 kids.

I wish I was more like my sweet little Grace Kelly, but trust me, I am not that good!  We do share some qualities: like Grace, I'm a bit klutzy and tend to spill things, I worry about saying the wrong thing and hurting someone's feelings, I suffer from a sometimes crippling lack of self-confidence, and I desperately want to figure out how to become a saint; but although I did grow up in an old house around the corner from the university campus in Plattsburgh, I didn't grow up with 5 older brothers.  Those 5 handsome, smart, athletic, momma-loving Kelly boys are loosely based on my own beloved sons.  And Grace's mother's tendency to favor the boys over Grace is based on a fear I used to have that, because I loved my sons so fiercely (and of course, boys was all I knew), if I'd had a daughter I might not feel the same way about her.  Having three granddaughters has set my mind at ease about that (oh, has it ever!), but when I wrote about Peggy, that's what I drew from.

There are a lot of people, incidents, and conversations in FG that were inspired by real life but were tweaked to fit my story.  After I'd been writing the book for about 3 years or so, I bought a copy of Jon Spence's Becoming Jane Austen, which I found on the Barnes & Noble clearance shelf.  Here are a couple of quotes from this incredible book that just jumped out at me, because--at the risk of putting my humble self in the same sentence with a literary giant like Austen--I thought, "Yes!  That's it!  That's what I'm doing here!"

"Jane wrote her early pieces for the amusement of her family and friends, and she put in shared jokes, teasing jibes, and allusions to real events in their lives."

"Austen is never autobiographical in the crude sense of recording what happened to her or to people she knew.  But a real situation was sometimes her starting point and developed in her imagination as something quite separate from the 'real'."

Case in point: on the day of my high school junior prom, I went over to the gym in the morning to help with last-minute decorations, and I fell backwards off a ladder.  I blacked out for just a moment, and I was left with a painful egg on the back of my head.  So Grace and I both attended our proms with eggs on our noggins, escorted by handsome gap-toothed dates.  But Grace never fell off a ladder--and if you want to know how she bumped her head, you'll have to read the book.  [Wink, wink.]

And with that little teaser, I think I'll sign off...finally, right?

Now head on over to Jessica's, if you haven't already.

Welcome, Baby Girl

Yesterday, our niece gave birth to a beautiful new baby girl.  My husband's younger brother became a Papa and our sister-in-law became a Moomee, and they are, to quote the newly-minted grandma, absolutely "over the moon." They raised four beautiful, talented, and exceptional daughters of their own, and now their oldest baby has become a mommy.

Our niece is a mother!  Her life is forever changed, and she's about to embark on the most amazing ride of her life.  In honor of this blessed event, here is a quote from dear St. Therese of Lisieux.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl with the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen and the sweetest smile on earth, a little girl who smiled her shy smile at you with her head dipped to one side in a way that was heart-melting.  That little girl grew up to be an extraordinary young woman, and she married her very own Prince Charming.  With the addition of this new life, this new little girl they've brought into the world (a princess, to be sure!), this wonderful couple has created a family--they have created their own little domestic Church. May God continue to bless them, and may they all live happily ever after!  

Aprons: They're Not Just for June Cleaver Anymore

I'm feeling a little Saturday morning re-run coming on again (oh, the laziness!).  Actually, I'm not just trying to avoid the work of writing up a new blog post.  No, that's not it.  Truly, I was inspired to re-post a little essay (first published on this here blog a little over a year ago) after being inspired by an on-line National Catholic Register article I just read.  Written by Jen Fulwiler, who blogs at Conversion Diary, it's called "The Apron: The Ultimate Symbol of a Culture of Life."  This article is both funny and thought-provoking, if you want to check it out.

Apparently, my apron wearing served an even higher purpose than I'd realized.  And I can't tell you how glad I am that the younger generation is finally starting to see what this old grammy has known for years now: THE APRON NEEDS TO MAKE A COMEBACK!  So without further ado, here is my very own paean to the most useful and necessary article of clothing in my wardrobe.  It is not nearly as awesome and profound as Fulwiler's musings on a wardrobe accessory that went out of vogue with the demise of 50's TV sitcoms and pretty much screams "vintage," but it's sort of cute.  (I think.)

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Thursday, June 7, 2012

An Ode to My Apron

I thought this vintage Good Housekeeping cover had my name written all over it (that is, if you substitute the pie crust and rolling pin for a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough and a big spoon), because there are two things that I really, really love to do: bake, and wear an apron.

Actually, let me qualify that statement.  I do love to bake, but I don't love to wear an apron; I only wear one because if I didn't, every article of clothing I own would be stained beyond redemption by this point.  Although I consider myself a fairly neat person, I am a fairly messy cook.  I tend to spill things, tip things over, and splatter myself with grease.  I am truly impressed by anyone who can cook without an apron and not end up wearing half the ingredients on her shirt.

My second son is quite amused by the whole apron thing, which I don't understand.  He says I'm always wearing one--even when I sleep!  Not true. I definitely take it off at bedtime. But I do spend more time sporting an apron than most gals, probably; because even standing at the sink washing dishes without one is bad news for my clothes, so pretty much any time I set foot in my kitchen, I strap one on.  Son #2 and his girlfriend came to our house for dinner recently, and when she offered to make the salad, he asked me to get her an apron first. Gullible me--I thought she'd requested it.  I thought she was a fellow apron fanatic.  I realize now that he just made her wear it for his own amusement.

Son, what's so funny about an apron?  Heck, back in the day, most women wore aprons when they were working in the kitchen.  June Cleaver, for instance, wouldn't have dreamed of cooking without one.  Of course, June wore a dress, high heels, and pearls when she was making dinner for Ward, Wally, and the Beave, so she had a fancy outfit to protect. But hey, I don't want to have butter stains on my jeans and polo shirts any more than June wanted them on her dresses.

I need my trusty apron.  It's always got my back (make that my front).  I love it and I don't care who knows it!  So here's a little ode to my apron, a haiku--because that's the quickest and easiest kind of poetry there is, and I have to wrap this up so that I can go and ice a Bundt cake.

My Apron

I love my apron-- 

with big pockets, tied in back.

I wear it always.

(But not when I'm in bed!)