Psalm 23

The Lord is my Shepherd;

I shall not want.

He makes me lie down

in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul. 

He leads me in right paths

for His Name's sake.

Even though I walk through

the darkest valley,

I fear no evil, for You are with me.

Surely goodness and mercy

shall follow me

all the days of my life.

And I shall dwell in the house

of the Lord

my whole life long.

I just love that prayer.  I find it so comforting to think of Our Lord in the role of the Good Shepherd--for surely, we need His help and guidance as we go through life's trials and tribulations.  Without Him, our journey would be an often scary and lonely one.  I just found out that my daughter-in-law's aunt, whose husband has been waging a battle with cancer, has been diagnosed with leukemia.  Please, please keep these good people in your prayers.  May they be blessed with God's mercy and goodness, and may they be healed.

And may God bless you and yours on this holiest day of the week.

   

Notre Dame, Our Mother

Last month, my husband and I went out to Notre Dame for the Blue-Gold football game (and a Pearl family get-together), and I snapped this photo of the famous Golden Dome atop the Administration Building.  I've taken dozens of pictures of this iconic structure over the years, but I thought this one was particularly beautiful.  It was taken on the most glorious spring day; the sky was so blue that it looked almost surreal, and it made the perfect backdrop for the gleaming statue of Our Lady.

We are a family of Notre Dame devotees.  It all began with my husband's father, a graduate of the class of '49, who passed on his love for Our Lady's university to the succeeding generations.  My father-in-law's devotion to Notre Dame was deep, fierce, and palpable--a bond shared with just about every alumnus who has ever had the privilege of matriculating on that campus; and in fact, when he died in 2003, his children had the Notre Dame alma mater (not to be confused with the school's well-known victory march) printed on the prayer cards for his funeral.

If you watch Notre Dame football on T.V., you may have seen the team head over to the student section at the end of the game to sing the school's alma mater, titled "Notre Dame, Our Mother," along with the fans.  Everyone links together with their arms on each other's shoulders, and they sway from side to side as they reverently sing these words:

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.

The last line--"Love thee Notre Dame"-- is sung as a crescendo, with an arm raised to Heaven.  This song always makes my husband, class of '80, get choked up.  It is such a beautiful tribute; it is a reminder that although Notre Dame is most often associated with its legendary football program, that was not the reason it was founded by a handful of French Holy Cross priests in 1842.  It was founded in honor of that Lady up on the Dome: Our Lady, for whom this prestigious Catholic university is named.

Remembering Shamus

Many years ago, we had a dog named Shamus.  She was a female Black Lab/Golden Retriever mix that we adopted from our base housing neighbors down the street when my husband was in Naval flight training in Beeville, TX.  (If you're curious about how she got her odd name, you can check out a post from March 30, 2011, called "The Feast of St. Fergus.")

I say "we" adopted her, but actually I adopted her--behind my husband's back, before he'd given the okay.  I think if he could have stopped me, he would have; but in a truly ninja-like stealth move, I brought her over to our house for a quick visit when she was a tiny black ball of fur (the runt of the litter, and not even weaned from her mother yet) and informed him that she was to be his birthday present.  Ta da!  When I presented Mr. "We are never getting a dog"  with that little puppy, who was quivering with fear and just so shy and adorable, and he held her in his lap...well, that was all she wrote.  He would have felt like he had a heart of stone if he turned down my offer of the best birthday present EVER!  I had to return Shamus to her mother that day; but before long we brought her home for good.  And as we hadn't started having babies yet--and I was in dire need of some needy creature on which to hone my mothering skills--she became our first "baby."

Shamus was not one of those puppies that chews and destroys things, but she did have an over-abundance of puppy energy (which she never lost in the five years she was with us).  She had the sweetest disposition--very much like that of my middle son's wonderful dog, Allie.  Shamus could fetch a ball like nobody's business, she could run like a greyhound, she could jump up and catch a Frisbee with her front paws (I'm not lying), and she was a born hunter, which is not surprising given her Lab/Retriever heritage.  We went camping with Shamus once, when I was pregnant with our first son, and she swam all over the lake trying to catch a duck.  That duck was just messing with her, I think, because it never took to flight; it just kept swimming along with Shamus dog-paddling like crazy behind it.  We had to call Shamus back, because we thought she might tucker herself out and drown--and seriously, she was never going to catch that duck.

We started out having strict rules about Shamus never being allowed up on the furniture, except on an old chair we'd bought for her at the Salvation Army and kept in our bedroom.  Every night when my husband and I would turn in, she would obediently follow us into the room and hop up on her chair.  But my husband was often gone for weeks at a time, you understand, doing training exercises in the desert and whatnot...and I got lonely sleeping all by myself in my big old bed...so I found a bit of wiggle room in the rules.  And you know, while the cat's away and all that. So once, when my husband had just returned from one of his two-week detachments and bedtime rolled around, Shamus dove onto our bed as if she did it every night; and my husband looked at me and said, "Wait a minute...what has been going on around here?!"  The second Shamus heard his tone, she leapt off the bed and got up on her chair, looking at me as if to say, "But Mom, you said it was okay."  Oh man, the jig was up!  We mice were busted.  But I've said this before, and I'll say it again: my husband can be a marshmallow, especially when it comes to me.  (I need to remember to use this power I have over him only for good.)  And for a long time after that night, Shamus slept with us at the foot of the bed.  We finally had to put the kibosh on that routine, though, when we kept waking up in the morning with a black snout between us on the pillows.  Even I knew it was time to send her back to her chair at that point.

Shamus came along before the babies; but once they started coming, they came fast and furious.  We had four sons within a span of four years and three months, and obviously, my first "baby" had to take a back seat (a "way back" seat, as we used to call those pop-up seats in the back of the station wagon), because I just didn't have the time or energy to shower her with the kind of attention she'd always enjoyed.  Plus, by the time our oldest son was about two, it became obvious that he had a dog allergy, and Shamus--who'd once slept in our bed with us--now had to spend most of her time outside in our fenced-in back yard.  She loved our boys, too, and I know it was hard for her to have to be separated from them so much of the time.  Since I was always either hugely pregnant or busy with the care and feeding of babies (or both), my husband took on most of the dog care.  Shamus and he formed a strong bond during this period, and the dog who'd come into our home under false pretenses--a present for my husband that was really a present for me!--was now truly my husband's dog.

When my husband decided to get out of the Navy and take an airline job, we were faced with the prospect of him going off to the Midwest for training--and leaving me behind in FL with four children aged four and under, a house to sell (by owner), and an imminent move up north to a rental home that might not allow pets; given all that, and our son's allergy, too, we made the tough decision to find a new home for Shamus.  Luckily, my husband found the perfect person: a single enlisted man who worked for him, a guy who lived out in the country where Shamus could run free.  And better yet, he was a hunter who was looking for a dog to train.  It seemed a perfect fit.  This man came over to meet Shamus, and the two of them hit it off.  But when he came to our house to take Shamus away for good, she didn't want to get in his car.  And my husband says he can still see her looking at him through the back window as the car drove away--looking at him with big, sad, "How could you do this to me?" eyes.  He said it was awful...and he never wants to go through anything like that again.  No wonder he's against getting another dog!

Oh my gosh, I am actually getting teary-eyed right now!  The funny thing is, when Shamus left, I didn't even go out to watch.  I think I needed to block it out, because my life was a bit overwhelming at the time and I was just relieved that we didn't have to worry about Shamus anymore.  But now that my kids are grown and the nest is empty, I find myself wishing I had a little doggy to love--especially when my husband is away on trips.  However, writing this made me realize that I don't want just any dog; I want Shamus!

It's a Twin Thing

Here is a touching piece of vintage artwork by Jesse Willcox Smith, whose wonderful paintings--usually of babies and small children--graced many Good Housekeeping covers in the early 1900's.  I just love her work!

Looking at these two darling girls sitting together reading makes me think of my sweet little twin granddaughters.  They already love books so much; I can see them like this someday down the road--squished together on a chair, leaning over a favorite book.  Of course, Bonny and Kewpie are identical, so I assume their hair--when it comes in!--will be the same color. But otherwise, I feel like I'm looking into a crystal ball: I see hair bows and black patent leather Mary Jane's (those shoes are a must!); I see "Sunday best" dresses and bobbed hair-dos; and best of all, I see two inseparable playmates joined at the hip.  Yes, I see the future.  And I must tell you, it's beautiful.

The twins are 11 months old now, as of yesterday, and within the last week they've both taken their first steps.  Things are going to get interesting around that house now, with two babies on the move.  (Not that they haven't been interesting up to this point!)  It wasn't all that long ago that the babies screamed with terror at bath time; but on a recent trip to a water park with Mommy and Daddy, when they got splashed and sprayed, they screamed with excitement.  How fast they grow up!

I still have to pinch myself sometimes when I realize that my firstborn son--the guy I can still picture as a chubby, tow-headed toddler in diapers--is the father of twin girls.  How lucky my husband and I are: when we became first-time grandparents, we got not one, but two, adorable granddaughters. Two for the price of one. This twin thing is so amazing and miraculous.  The birth of any baby is a miracle, absolute proof of the existence of God; but the birth of twins is a double miracle.  A miracle squared.

Like I said, I see a beautiful future for my precious twin granddaughtes.  I just don't want it to get here too fast.

Birthday Wishes for My Middle Son

My sweet boy in second grade.

Today, my #3 son--my "middle child"--turns 26.  I'm becoming a broken record these days, but I really do have to ask: how in the world did this happen?  I turned my back for two seconds, and he morphed from a spindly-legged little cutie pie with big blue eyes and a killer smile (who couldn't for the life of him pronounce his R's and L's--and as I observed before in this blog, this was a bit inconvenient for him given that his last name is PEARL) into a tall, broad-shouldered man who is both an Army captain in the Reserves and a civilian contractor using his Notre Dame finance degree to do important work that helps to keep our nation safe.  He is all grown up, but in some ways, he'll always be that adorable little boy to me.  (I mean, he does still have the big blue eyes and the killer smile.)

My #3 son lives all the way down in VA, where he shares a condo with his younger brother (son #4).  He also lives with my beloved Allie (okay, I guess technically she's his dog), and with his brother's rambunctious pup, Finny.  He has a great life down there, with extended family close by...but I wish he wasn't so far away.  It's hard to imagine now, but this is a guy who used to need me to be in sight and within earshot at all times.  When he was a little boy, he was quite attached to me.  Whenever I ran over to a neighbor's house to drop something off or to chat for a few minutes, if I didn't return promptly, I could count on him to check up on me.  If I was a couple of doors down, before long the phone would ring, and I would tell my neighbor, "I think I know who that is."  And sure enough, when I put the receiver to my ear and said, "Hello, M---," my boy would say, "When are you coming back?"  If I was just at our next door neighbor's house, after a bit there would be a knock at the front door, and who do you think would be standing on the stoop?  You guessed it.  "Hey, Mom, when are you coming back?" he'd say.  I have five sons, and I know they all love me; but he was the one who would notice if I was absent for any amount of time.  What a little sweetie he was--and is!

My boy can handle being far away from me these days (although he's great at keeping in touch with his old mom and dad); now I'M the one who has trouble with separation!

This son is truly a delight.  He's our "glass is half full" guy.  He's almost always happy and almost always up for a new adventure.  Wherever he is, that's his favorite place to be.  He makes good friends wherever he goes.  He is an affectionate and dutiful son and a loyal brother, a guy who loves his family and isn't afraid to show it.  Some of his favorite things are Vegas, the Red Sox, Notre Dame and every single one of its sports teams, anything having to do with ancient Rome or Greece, travel, family reunions, chocolate, babies, golf, football, lacrosse, and just plain sports in general.  (If he comes to visit you, you better be able to get ESPN on your T.V.!)  He is the only one in our family who has ever gone swimming with dolphins, which doesn't surprise me a bit.  And if the pictures from that experience are any indication, I think he made friends with them, too.*

You make us so happy, M---, and I don't know what this family would do without you.  Here's wishing you a Happy, Happy Birthday.  Dad and I love you more than you could ever know.

*You can check out my Oct. 12, 2011 post called "Love Was in the Air" if you'd like to see the pictures--they're really cute.                                           

A Royal-Sized Wedding Party

Okay, I'm on a little kick now.  All I had to do was watch the replay of the royal wedding of Britain's Prince William and his lovely bride Kate Middleton on TLC two days ago, and suddenly I can't stop thinking about my own wedding.  It's not like it's even my anniversary or anything.  That's not 'til two days after Christmas, and here it is only the first of May.

Our wedding party: even with just the family members included, it would have been big!

Anyway, yesterday I told you all about my bargain wedding gown that was made out of a silky, synthetic, 70's era fabric called Qiana.  Today, I give you our entire wedding party (an enormous party, as you can see; what did we think we were--royals?), so that you can check out the rest of the wedding fashions from our 1980 nuptials.  I've told you enough about my dress; now let's look at the dress I chose for my bridesmaids.

I had a LOT of bridesmaids: my two sisters, my husband's four sisters, two high school friends, and two college friends.  The girls' dresses were also made of Qiana, so I suppose they are as dated as my gown.  Although I think I told my bridesmaids, as all brides do, that they could shorten them afterward and probably get lots of use out of them, those floor-length dresses were extremely "bridesmaidy," and I doubt they ever got much wear once our reception ended.  I did like them, though.  I chose a cranberry red color, since it was a Christmas wedding, and then my maid of honor (the older of my two younger sisters) stood out with the same dress in a shade called "dusty rose."  Even though my bridesmaids were different heights and body types, I think the dress looked beautiful on all of them.  The silky fabric draped and moved so gracefully.  It was a very sweet and modest style, very feminine; the bodice of the dress had a deep V, but it was filled in with a lace insert that ended in a high neck.  Since my husband's two youngest sisters were only 12 and 13, they were technically "junior bridesmaids."  My resourceful mother-in-law contacted the dress manufacturer to order a bolt of dusty rose Qiana and two lace inserts, and then she proceeded to make them gowns that would go with the ones the older girls were wearing.

Now for the guys.  My husband had a lot of groomsmen: two of his younger brothers (the older of the two played best man), my two brothers, and four high school friends; and then his youngest brother--the little guy wearing the gray suit, who was 10 at the time and bummed that he didn't have a tux like everyone else--was the ring bearer.  All the older guys wore black tails, which was a very classy and timeless choice--and almost a miracle, considering the pastel Easter egg hues that were in vogue for tuxedos during that era of fashion fiascoes.  My husband wanted to wear a black top hat and white gloves and carry a cane, and he wanted the rest of the guys to have those things, too; but the local tux shop couldn't arrange to round up as many as we needed.  I thought as the groom it was okay for him to stand out a little, but it was all or nothing with him.

We have some sons who have a kind of wacky fashion sense (they fancy tweed newsboy caps, wear striped shirts with plaid shorts, and sport t-shirts with sayings like "Meat is murder--tasty, tasty murder" and "PANTS" emblazoned across the front).  I have long suspected that they get their dare-to-be-different courage from their cowboy hat-wearing father, who was disappointed that he couldn't outfit his groomsmen with top hats and canes for his wedding day.

Nowadays, you could probably go on-line and find a way to procure nine top hats for a wedding; but remember: we got married back in the Stone Age.

Okay, that's it.  I promise you that there will be no more reminiscing about my wedding.  At least not until our anniversary in December.

Disco Shirts and Dream Dresses

Yesterday after Mass I got sucked into watching a TLC rerun of the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton.  (It was the one year anniversary of that historic event.)  One of the most entertaining things about seeing the "wedding of the century" again was enjoying the fashion show--particularly the haberdashery!  One of the fashion critics on the program made the comment that most of the hats were utterly ridiculous, and I couldn't agree more.  While Kate Middleton's mother wore a very becoming wide-brimmed hat that matched her tasteful suit, Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie sported outlandish headgear that made them look like a couple of cartoon characters out of a Dr. Seuss book or something.  So silly!

But I just had to force myself to look past the over-the-top hat styles, because Kate Middleton's wedding gown couldn't have been more of a fashion triumph!  I thought it was just incredibly beautiful!  I love the long lace sleeves she chose to wear, so reminiscent of those on Grace Kelly's iconic dress from her 1956 Monaco wedding.

Sometimes when I see a glowing bride like Kate Middleton (or my beautiful daughter-in-law) on her big day, it makes me wish I'd put more thought and effort into transforming myself into a princess for my own shining moment.  I was a very young bride in 1980--22--and at that point, I could count the number of weddings I'd attended on one hand.  There was no such thing as the Internet (so no theKnot.com to go to for ideas, no on-line shopping), and our small town had exactly one shop specifically dedicated to bridal wear.  I hadn't given a whole lot of thought to what my "dream dress" would look like; I only knew that the two or three I tried on at the local bridal shop (both extremely poofy, made out of snow white satin, and covered with pearls that may have been glued on rather than sewn, as a few of them fell off in the fitting room!) looked dreadful on me.

My wrinkle-resistant, washable Qiana dress.

Then one day, my husband's older sister and I were strolling through the mall, and we noticed a sign at one of the women's clothing stores that said, "Clearance--We are closing out our bridal section, and all bridal wear must go!"  Before this, we didn't even know that store had a bridal section!  On a whim, we went in, and I fell in love with the very first dress I tried on: an empire-waisted, long-sleeved gown in "antique white," a color which looked so much better against my skin than pure white.  It wasn't made of heavy satin, but rather a soft, silky fabric called Qiana, which had a lovely drape to it and was all the rage at the time.  The gown was half off, only $90, and there was a matching veil with a lacy Juliet cap in the same creamy color for $50.  On the spot, I put both items on layaway and didn't look back.

As my wedding day drew near, my mother offered to sew some sequins and seed pearls on the bodice of my dress to jazz it up, just as her mother had done for her; I thought about it, but decided that I liked it the way it was and wanted to keep it simple.  Years down the road, I sometimes wondered if I'd made a mistake about that.  A little extra shimmer and bling could never hurt a wedding gown; why had I insisted on such simplicity?  And why hadn't I had my hair done at a salon, instead having my sister-in-law--who was only 12 at the time!--get out the curling iron at the last minute and do my hair for me?  And why did I skip wearing mascara, worried that I would cry and look like a raccoon in pictures?  (Actually, I did cry reciting my vows, so that was probably a good call.)

My husband pooh-poohs my second guessing, telling me that he about had a heart attack when I walked down the aisle as it was.  (What a sweet-talker.)

I remember my mother-in-law, who was very knowledgeable about fashions and fabrics, told me that the Qiana fabric out of which my wedding dress was made would date it, so that it wouldn't be as timeless as if it had been made from silk or some other natural fabric.  I sometimes wondered if I'd made a big mistake when I chose it.  But you know what?  I've had it hanging in the back of my closet for over 30 years, and every time I take it out to look at it again, I realize that I love it as much as I did when I tried it on at that store in the mall and my sister-in-law assured me, "It's perfect--you should get it!"

And you know what else?  I've decided that I'm okay with the fact that the synthetic Qiana fabric dates it.  Do you know what that means?  It means I own a vintage wedding dress.  And you know how much I like anything vintage!

Anyhoo, I went on-line yesterday to do some research about wedding dresses from the 70's and 80's, and first I searched for and found the web definition for the knit fabric known as Qiana: "a silky nylon fiber first developed by DuPont in 1968; initially intended for high-end fashions, it became a popular material in the 70's for men's shirts..."  That's right, the fabric out of which my wedding dress was made was also used to make those shiny, long-collared shirts that were worn with tacky-looking polyester double-knit leisure suits by John Travolta wannabes when they hit the discos in the 70's!  Yowsah!  How embarrassing.

My favorite thing: the three-dimensional venise lace appliques.

As the "disco fever" started to die down, though, designers actually began to use Qiana for evening wear and wedding gowns.  In 1979, the year before I got married, designers Bill Schad and Miss Hilda created lines of empire-waisted Qiana gowns with three-dimensional venise lace embellishments.  The stretch knit made them comfortable (I can attest to that--mine was a dream to wear), and the dresses were lined throughout the bodice and skirt for modesty (I didn't even need to wear a slip underneath).  I'm thinking that my off-white Qiana gown might have been a designer knock-off, because just like the images I found on-line, it too has an empire waist and venise lace appliques on the sleeves and bodice.  In fact, it was those lace embellishments--along with the graceful drape of the silky knit fabric--that made me fall in love with my wedding dress in the first place.

I was no Kate Middleton on my wedding day, but I love my dated, bargain basement wedding dress all the same.  In fact, if I could go back and do it all over again, even knowing what I know now I wouldn't change a thing.  I'd still pick that Qiana dress...and I'd still have my sister-in-law work her magic on my hair with a curling iron.