Back Home (for a Little While, Anyway) and Back to Blogging

Sorry about the dearth of blog posts lately!  I lugged my very heavy laptop along on my recent trip (from Boston to Tampa, Tampa to Ft. Lauderdale, Ft. Lauderdale to Tampa, and Tampa back to Boston), but for most of the seven days I was away from home, I was unable to get any Internet access.  Forget blogging; I couldn't even check my e-mails on it.  I don't know why I keep bringing it along with me, making my life on the road (particularly at airport security check points) so much more difficult.  But now that I'm a blogger, this laptop and I are pretty much joined at the hip.

Before I go any further, please forget the blog post I wrote at the hotel in Ft. Lauderdale on January 6.  You know, the one predicting--very boldly and confidently--that Notre Dame would beat Alabama for the national championship title the next day.  Erase it from your memory bank.  I was wrong, and that's all I'm going to say about the game...except that after the first quarter, when ND was trailing 21-0 already, my husband and I were sort of glad we hadn't been able to find any available tickets to spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on, and instead had to watch the game on a mid-size flat-screen TV set up at a tailgater next to ours in the stadium parking lot.  The game was a disaster.  But hey, the Irish gave us a lot to be happy about all season--and for that alone, we should be grateful.  And ND making it to the BCS bowl game at Sun Life Stadium gave my husband and his seven siblings a perfect excuse to get together for a fantastic family reunion in sunny Florida.  And we had the most amazing tailgater you've ever seen, located right next to the stadium--I mean, we literally were parked as close as you could be.  As one of my brothers-in-law put it, January 7 "was a perfect day...until kick-off."  So the bottom line is that a good time was had by all (except during the game itself)--and my husband and I are really glad we made the trip down there with our youngest son.

In two or three days, our baby boy will go back to ND for the spring semester and my husband and I will board a plane again--this time headed out to CO to stay for a week or so with our daughter-in-law and the twins while our oldest son has to be away doing Army things.  So in two or three days, I'll be packing up the old laptop once again, and hopefully I won't be too busy doing Grammy things out west to get a few blog posts up.  Since I'm home for such a short time, and most of my time in the next couple of days will be spent preparing for my next trip (unpacking, doing laundry, repacking, etc.), I may not be the best blogger.  But there are so many good ones out there to follow, and today I'm going to "introduce" you to a Catholic blogger I've "met" in my cyber-travels recently.  Her name is M.R. Zapp and she did a review of Finding Grace today on her "Regency Catholic" blog, if you're interested in checking it out.  It is a no-holds-barred, very honest critique, and ultimately a sweet endorsement for my book (warts and all).

Hey, I missed you guys.  Did you miss me?  It's good to be back in the blogosphere!

Being Irish in South Beach

Well, the past few days have been busy, visiting with my husband's siblings at his sister's house in Tampa.  For some reason, I couldn't get my laptop connected to my sister-in-law's Internet, so I couldn't blog.  It was probably better that I couldn't anyway--there was too much fun to be had, just talking and laughing with loved ones who are much too far-flung about the country, and soaking up the comfortable, relaxing, and WARM Florida way of life. A person could get used to this.  Especially a person who boarded a plane on Thursday in New England, where the temperature was hovering around minus one, and now finds herself getting overheated wearing no more than a t-shirt and capris!  In January!

Seven of the eight Pearl siblings had already been reunited in Tampa, and then yesterday, we made the drive to Ft. Lauderdale, where we met up with my husband's youngest brother and checked into our hotel.  We'll be staying here until Tuesday morning (better known as the morning after Notre Dame beats Alabama for the national championship).

Last night, the eight sibs, several of their spouses, and a handful of the 32 Pearl first cousins hit South Beach, and WOW--what a night!  We went to an Irish pub & restaurant called Finnegan's, which was jam-packed with Notre Dame fans.  I mean, I doubt anyone wearing a "Roll Tide" t-shirt would have felt brave enough to show his face in that place! Finnegan's was flying Notre Dame flags at the corners of the outdoor seating area and blasting the Notre Dame Victory March every 45 minutes.  (With all the ear-splitting celebrating going on, however, I could barely recognize that well-loved song!)  At Finnegan's, it was like one, big, loud, happy and--I have to be honest--somewhat inebriated Irish family. Truly, complete strangers were forming bonds with other Irish fans based solely on the "Beat Bama" t-shirts and Manti T'eo jerseys they were wearing.

The Pearl Sisters

The Pearl Brothers

There is so much excitement in the air down here right now.  Our hotel is chock-full of Irish fans.  We just got back from the hotel's complimentary breakfast, where one of my sisters-in-law said that shortly before we came down it was packed and abuzz with spirited Irish fans, and a crimson-shirted Alabama fan came into the dining room and yelled, "Roll Tide!" She said everyone stopped talking, looked at him, and the room went silent.  You could hear crickets, she said.  And the poor guy (a good-natured, funny sort) said, "Really?  No one is going to respond, even out of pity?"

Okay, sports fans, today's the day.  The tailgating starts soon, and after that, the winning. Go Irish!

Les Miserables, C'est Magnifique!

On Wednesday, I finally got to see the newest film version of Les Miserables, starring Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, and Ann Hathaway.  I'd been pretty much dying to see it ever since the first trailer for the movie came out on T.V., with Hathaway singing her haunting version of the song "I Dreamed a Dream."  The movie came out on Christmas day, and on the 26th, my husband and I, along with four of our sons and two of their girlfriends, tried to catch a matinee...but like fools, we didn't order tickets ahead of time on-line, and every single showing was oversold that day.  It was so disappointing!  (We were quite malhereux--you might even say miserable!  However, we chased away the doldrums by going bowling, which actually turned out to be quite fun.)

Anyway, you get the idea that I've been eagerly waiting, and waiting, and waiting to see this latest Les Mis...and today, I finally got to see it, with my husband and my youngest son.

I don't know how many ways I can tell you how much I loved it.  I give it two enthusiastic thumbs up!  Five stars out of five!  I'd go again in a minute!  It's almost worth it just to watch Ann Hathaway's deeply affecting performance as the long-suffering Fantine.  If that girl doesn't win an Oscar, then I think we can only assume that there is voter fraud within the Academy.

I read one negative review about the film, by someone who gave it a C-rating.  (Boo!)  Then I read a positive one in which the reviewer praised the director's decision to film the actors while they sang, instead of studio-producing the sort of showstopping numbers you usually find on a movie soundtrack--and my guys and I agreed that this made the movie that much better.  Almost every single line of dialogue was sung rather than spoken, which was quite extraordinary.  The actors didn't stop what they were doing and break into song; they sang as they were doing things.  I thought that 3 hours of constant singing might get pretty old for my son (19-year-old boys and musicals don't often go together), but he enjoyed the movie as much as his father and I did.  We all agreed with one woman in the audience who proclaimed loudly, as soon as the credits began to roll, "Well, that was just awesome!"

Now, I'm getting motivated to finally read Victor Hugo's novel of the same name, which has been the inspiration for so many films and theater productions.  My paperback version is 1463 pages long, and the print is small.  I'm not afraid of long books--Gone with the Wind was almost as long, and I devoured that one (twice!).  But for some reason, the two times I've tried to tackle Les Miserables in the past, I haven't gotten past page 200.  After watching that beautiful film version of the story (you must see it, you really must!), I have been inspired to give the book the old college try once again.

Now that is one fat book!

Wish me luck!  I think I'm going to need it!

My Patron Saint for 2013

Yeaterday morning, I was reading Jennifer Fulwiler's "Conversion Diary" blog, and on it there was a link to a "Saint's Name Generator," where with the click of a mouse you could have a patron saint for the New Year randomly chosen for you. Jennifer had done this and was given St. Michael the Archangel as her patron for 2013.  (Another blogger I follow, "Snoring Scholar" Sarah Reinhard, had St. Isadore the Farmer chosen for her.)  I got curious about who my patron saint would be, and decided to try it--stopping first, as advised, to "say a prayer that whichever saint is chosen for you will inspire you to greater devotion to our Lord."

I am happy to report that my randomly chosen patron saint for 2013 is St. Padre Pio, whose feast is celebrated on September 23.

I don't know as much about St. Padre Pio as I should.  I know that he is a modern saint who was canonized not that long ago.  I know that he was renowned as a great confessor, and that he had the ability to read the hearts--to actually see the sins--of penitents.  I believe he suffered with the stigmata.  But I need to learn much more about him, and I'm going to make that one of my goals for 2013.  Call it my first New Year's resolution!

There is a very real possibility that you're going to learn more about St. Padre Pio, too, if you read "String of Pearls"--because I have no doubt that I will feel the need to share what I find out about him with you.

St. Padre Pio, pray for me.  (And if you wouldn't mind beginning our special relationship by asking our Lord to keep my husband, my son, and me safe on our airplane trip south this morning, I would be eternally grateful!)

P.S.--If you decide to click on the link above, I'd love to hear which saint was chosen as your special patron for the year.

A Resurgence of Catholic Fiction

Since my novel Finding Grace was released in August of 2012, I have been introduced to a whole new world of authors and books that I didn't know existed before, and I have become aware of a growing resurgence in specifically Catholic fiction.  That has been one of the greatest outcomes of writing my book: in the process of trying to market it, I have been in contact with some truly wonderful people who are writing Catholic fiction and generously offer to showcase my title on their websites, read my book for review, and stretch out a hand in friendship.  I have even become Facebook friends with several of these wonderful women, and done "book exchanges" with them, where I send them a copy of my book and they send me one (and in one case, two!) of their published novels.  When those boxes come, I am like a little kid on Christmas morning, I'm so excited.

Right now, I have two paperback novels I received from Canadian author Ellen Gable on my nightstand, which I intend to bring along in my carry-on bag when my husband, my son, and I fly down to Florida tomorrow (Notre Dame is playing in the championship game on January 7, in case you haven't heard!).  For once, I don't need to make a trip to the bookstore to find something to take my mind off the fact that I'll be sitting in a chair 30,000 feet above the ground.  I have Emily's Hope and In Name Only all ready to pack.  (When I finish them, I'll review them here for you.)

Like the homeschooling movement that took place in this country several decades ago (whose brave pioneers faced public ridicule and even prison time as they paved the way for people like my husband and me, who successfully homeschooled our youngest son from 2002-2007), there is a growing movement going on right now to put more Catholic literature on the shelves of libraries and bookstores around the country.  I was motivated to write for that very reason--to put out a novel for young people that was unabashedly Catholic and might combat the damaging secular messages that are being thrown at them daily from every direction, to create a story that could be both entertaining and filled with the beauty of the Faith.  The fact that I was not able to write a book before I did is evidence to me of God's grace, because the timing was actually perfect.  Without the current Catholic literature movement and the greatest marketing tool of all time, the Internet, I doubt my book would have ever seen the light of day.  Without dedicated people like Cheryl Dickow of Bezalel Books, I doubt I could have found a publisher who would be interested in the kind of fiction I'd written.

There was a time when there were many great Roman Catholic authors writing fiction. These literary giants enjoyed critical acclaim, reader popularity, and financial success. Think C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, G.K. Chesterton, Flannery O'Connor, and Graham Greene, to name a few.  I used to wonder if the era of the Catholic writer was dead, because although there are plenty of books in the "Christian" and "New Age" sections of our local Barnes & Noble, there don't seem to be any that are specifically Catholic, as far as I can tell.  But up-and-coming Catholic fiction writers are out there.  As Dickow says, they are "taking leaps of faith as they witness and work to share the Good News through their God-given talents...These men and women are taking very seriously their responsibility as part of the body of Christ."

I am both thrilled and humbled that my little book plays even an infinitesimal part in this movement to promote modern Catholic fiction.  I'm pretty sure it will never make me rich (I joke with my husband that I am making "ones and ones of dollars"!); but through the process of publishing and marketing it, my life has been immeasurably enriched.

Art--Now That's Always a Good Subject!

I woke up this morning feeling awful.  I've been fighting something or other--a bad cold (possibly a sinus infection) and a queasy stomach, which is not surprising considering that most of my family members got sick either before, after, or during the Christmas holidays. Not a great way to ring in the New Year, is it?

I don't feel much like writing, and I've been sitting here at my computer thinking, "What to blog about... what to blog about?"  It's a holiday, after all, so I considered just taking a day off from the blogosphere altogether (something I've been very good at these days!); but then I decided that I'd do a quick post about art.  Art--now that's always a good subject!  When you feel lousy, or you're down, or life seems colorless, there's no better antidote to cure the blahs than looking at a beautiful piece of artwork--or a piece that might not be beautiful to someone else, but has the ability to lift your one-of-a-kind soul.

For Christmas, son #3's girlfriend turned a photo of my twin granddaughters into a legitimate work of art.  She had it made into a 16 x 20" canvas stretched over wood, like a painting.  It is so beautiful that it knocked the picture collage of my toddler sons in their sailor suits out of its long-held spot above the fireplace in our living room.  Feast your eyes, people.  This is art at its finest.

Once this masterpiece took over the wall above the mantle, I shifted around the rest of the artwork in the room, and a large pastel drawing I'd done back in 1990 didn't make the cut.  I had used a snapshot of my two oldest sons playing at Cliff Haven Beach in the summer of 1986 as a model for it.

I had matted and framed it myself, and when I took it out from under the glass yesterday to store it away, I noticed it had gotten discolored along the lines where the mat had been. But I got looking at it...and musing that if I took a picture of it and had it printed on canvas like the photo of my little cutie pies above, it might look like a more professional piece. So...I'm thinking about having that done someday soon.  Although this is an amateur work, it makes me happy to look at it, because it evokes that time in my life when my boys were little, and the happy summer days we spent in Upstate NY at their grandparents' house.

And that's the whole purpose of art, isn't it--to make you happy when you look at it?  Critics will always disagree on what's good art and what's not (can we talk about Jackson Pollock?!), but the only important thing as far as art is concerned is that it is pleasing to the viewer's eye.

Here's hoping that 2013 is just filled to the brim with beauty, peace, and happiness.  Happy New Year!

Irish My Husband Is

Yesterday, I posted a wonderful poem about the Irish that I wish I could take credit for but can't. Unfortunately, I can't even give credit to the author because I don't know who wrote it; but to the poet out there who composed that gem, I must say that when it comes to describing the heart and soul of an Irishman, you nailed it.  When I read it, it reminded me so much of my husband, a full-blooded Irish American.

My husband definitely stubbornly refuses to bow in defeat.  He has always been a competitive guy, which served him well as a high school athlete who excelled at both football and basketball and as a college rugby player.  He's a peace-loving man; but if you challenge him on something about which he knows more than you do and/or feels very strongly about (matters of Faith come to mind), you better watch out: you are not going to win that argument.  It's not that he's always spoiling and ready to argue and fight; but make no mistake, he will fight--whether it means to win a friendly game of HORSE or to defend beliefs he holds dear.  He's the least wishy-washy person I know; like the poem says, there is no middle ground on which he will stand.

The smile of a child fills his soul with delight, and it always has.  My husband was delighted by the smiles of his younger siblings when he was a boy, those of his own children (and their cousins) when they were growing up, and to say that he is delighted by the smiles of his twin granddaughters is the understatement of the century.

His eyes are the quickest to well up in tears these days.  For most of their lives, our sons never saw their dad cry; but the older he gets, the leakier his eyes have become.  Just ask anyone who was there when he opened up my Christmas gift to him this year.

A fleecy blanket printed with a photo of Papa and his beloved  granddaughters.

My husband is the bravest, strongest person I know.  He is my rock, my hero, the fierce protector of his family.  Tears might sting his eyes when he opens up gifts like the one he's modeling for you in the above picture, yet his strength is the strongest to banish your fears. Just having him nearby makes me feel like I'm safe from harm and all is right in the world.

This Irish guy I married is enamored with beauty wherever it lies; he could sit and stare out at the lake in the back yard of his childhood home for hours and never get tired of it, and he says that the view from his "office" (the cockpit of an airplane) is simply the best there is.

There are some adjectives in the poem that don't remind me of the nearly perfect Irishman I married; he's not proud, though he'll tell you that's a flaw he needs to work on; he's rarely sad, never bad, and I don't believe in the almost 40 years I've known him that he's ever been a clod.  But the last line of the poem says the most important thing you need to know about my husband: he's in love with his God.

I was too busy on our anniversary back on the 27th to write much, so this post is dedicated to my husband as we mark 32 years of married life together.  I certainly had the luck of the Irish when I snagged him, didn't I?  Irish my husband is, and Irish he will always be...and that's a very good thing.