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by the Shrine of St. Jude Thaddeus, St. Dominic's Church, San Francisco.
Many, many thanks to Leona, Glenn, Martha and Gloria, all four of whom told me about St. Dominic's Church and its shrine to St. Jude. Thanks to all of you, we have been attending Mass at St. Dominic's for the past month and love the place dearly.
The four older girls and I were bringing home ice cream for Daddy and the little ones, when I decided to pick up two cups of coffee as well. Peet's was closed, so we made our way next door to Lo Cubano, a coffee shop we have never once tried in all these months. A sign scratched in chalk read "Music Tonite!" and a string band was playing within, the musicians' backs to the front plate glass window.
If you have ever stood outside an establishment with a band in full swing, you will understand how we hesitated on the sidewalk, not wanting to interrupt or intrude, feeling vaguely like party crashers. A few friendly audience members noticed us teetering there and waved us forward, wearing such welcoming expressions, I almost fancied they would be disappointed if we did not come in. Slipping through the shop's glass door, we left the lamplit street with its cars and concrete behind and entered a country haven of banjo and bluegrass. People of every age and ethnicity rocked, danced, tapped, and clapped, and yet the place felt cozy and soothing. Children swung round in circles, and old people smiled from cushioned corners. An expression of satisfaction spread across each face so that, different though they were, the patrons had the unified look of a loving and boisterous family.
My full attention was captured by a darling baby dancing in the aisle. She reminded me so much of my Eileen with her bright eyes and straight silky hair. The girls noticed her too, and four adoring smiles were trained upon her at once, admiring her whirling, wandering, rhythmic joy. When I ordered my coffee, the woman behind the counter asked if I would mind waiting for a fresh pot. "With this music playing?" I laughed. "Take all the time you want!" She flashed me a smile, and my girls stood tapping their feet looking so happy to be there.
A sweet young woman approached us saying, "Would you like a table? I am following the baby and won't be sitting. I can move my things if you like."
"Are you the mother of that little darling?" I gushed, "She reminds me so much of my baby at home. They must be just about the same age." Within moments, we discovered to our mutual amazement that the two girls in fact share a birthday. [How can I describe how warmly I felt toward her dear mother because of this? It was the kinship of two women who both received God's greatest gift on the same day--one on the west coast, the other on the east.]
It turns out the woman's husband was one of the very talented members of the bluegrass group, Huckleberry Flint. Captivated by the band's arresting and uniquely American music, the girls and I wanted to stay into the evening, but I thought of the ice cream melting in the car and the coffee cooling in its cup. The ice cream and coffee, I would have readily sacrificed, but these things were for Daddy and that made them important. And so, in an almost heroic act of the will, I resolved to return to the world of cars and concrete, leaving our Bluegrass Brigadoon behind.
Huckleberry Flint plucked, bowed and crooned "How Great Thou Art" with a simple sincerity that was enough to break my heart as I prepared to tear myself (and the girls) away. A hopeful thought struck me though, and I asked the lovely mother if the band had CDs available.
"I think we may have a few in the car," she told me, stepping outside to check. In five minutes time, I had purchased two CDs, and just knowing my purse contained an echo of what we had been hearing fortified me to leave. The girls looked regretful, turning last longing looks on both band and baby. We could still hear the muffled sounds of strings as I pulled out of my spot, feeling like a captain shipping away from a friendly shore, with its music throbbing across the water.
Daddy, being Daddy, urged us to return to Lo Cubano when he heard all about it, regretting that his ice cream and coffee had been given precedence, but it was very late and Eileen needed me. Still longing for more Bluegrass, we popped our first CD, "Good Night, Darling," into the computer. I smiled (and was not at all surprised) to see "Micah 6:8," cited inside the accompanying booklet, giving a glimpse inside the band's heart. In its entirety, Micah 6:8 says:
"You have been told, O man, what is good, and what the LORD requires of you: Only to do the right and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God."
The strains of banjo and bow and bass reached our waiting ears once more, less completely perhaps, but still as tunefully. Tossed about by the music, Eileen began a whirl, trot and clap with steps remarkably similar to her west coast counterpart. Margaret and Marie swung one another breathlessly, wearing the satisfied, joyous expressions we had seen dotted all over Lo Cubano. I tapped my foot in a cushioned chair, and Patrick danced a hornpipe on the bed.
If a person could have had a bird's eye view of San Francisco that night--perhaps perched in Coit Tower atop Telegraph Hill or striding a tree on Mount Davidson--and if this person's vision was strong enough to see through darkness, distance and fog, he would have found two lively parties on one street--each full of happy children swaying in the bluegrass, rocking to the wholesome, heartening rhythms of a band called Huckleberry Flint.
One source of great joy for us here in California has been hunting down the nooks and corners particularly loved by the friends kind enough to follow these reports of our trip. I hope to write more about how these recommendations have added interest and warmth to our time here, but for now I will simply say that when Clarice from "The Storybook Woods" urges you to try a place, be prepared to step directly inside a fairy tale.
Back in early July, Clarice wrote to me about a little town just over a hundred miles south of San Francisco called Carmel-by-the-Sea and an English Tearoom with the charming name, "The Tuck Box." I kept this in the back of my mind for all these weeks, and this past Sunday, I found myself sitting inside a vintage cottage, inspired in its construction by the watercolors of Arthur Rackham, ordering Tea with my girls. The menu at the Tuck Box offered authentic English fare, and I sat down to some of the best Shepherd's Pie ever assembled--second only to the delicious meal my Irish friend Caroline always totes to our house at the arrival of each new baby.
The cast of our recent production of a Midsummer Night's Dream will confirm that the girls and I are ardent admirers of Arthur Rackham's artwork, so an afternoon spent inside one of his paintings was a dream come true. Builder Hugh Comstock created dozens of these graceful structures decades ago, giving the little town of Carmel-by-the-Sea its idyllic feel. On the side of The Tuck Box, I was beside myself to find a built in Madonna and Child tile and wonder if all Comstock Cottages have similar touches. My hope is that someday, my own dear cottage in New York will wear one just like it.
Long before Hugh Comstock ornamented this fairy tale village, it was the favorite Mission of Blessed Junipero Serra. Shortly after tea, we had the happiness to wander the Carmel Mission of San Carlos Borromeo, saying a prayer by the grave of Blessed Serra himself. It is a holy place--a paradise within a paradise--awash in flowers and saints' statues and whispers of the past. We have visited four missions during our time in California, but I, like Father Serra himself, will always call Carmel my favorite. There have been rare occasions in my life in which I have stood in a distant place and felt as if I had just returned home--it always happens to me in Ireland, for instance. I had this same feeling standing in the Mission Garden, listening to bees buzzing in and out the wall of the basilica, catching the glint of abalone shells, and lingering near the well tended shrine to Our Lady.
Stopping for a moment, I offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the Spanish missionaries, the canonization of Blessed Junipero Serra, and the many good souls lying at rest in that bower of blessedness.
*******
[This sarcophagus shows Father Junipero Serra surrounded by three mourning friars. He has a small bear cub curled up under his feet. Interestingly, Father Serra is not interred there. He is buried by the altar within the basilica.]
[This is the simple cell in which Father Serra passed away.]
[The girls kneel by the shrine to Our Lady of Mount Carmel inside the basilica.]
Many thanks to Martha Long, who also recommended The Tuck Box the moment she heard we were in Carmel!
Several years ago, Brigid O'Neill and I were emailing each other back and forth commiserating. Our local homeschooling group was supposed to be having a "World's Fair" of sorts. The details of this ill-fated event are unimportant now--suffice to say the Fair was canceled at the last minute because of Chicken Pox. Ever the clever one, Brigid emailed me a photograph of the project she had been working on to represent France--an enormous Eiffel Tower made entirely out of sugar wafers! This marvel of icing and engineering--looking for all the world like a collaboration between Leonardo and the Keebler Elf--would never see the light of day.
Eager to make Brigid laugh, I showed the pictures to dh, asking for his help. What if we were to make something huge, I suggested, say, an Arc de Triomphe out of kitchen utensils, photograph it, and email it to her? It would make her chuckle no doubt. Dh, oddly enough, was not keen on a massive (and almost pointless) building project at eleven o'clock at night.
With the muscle behind the operation headed off to bed, practically no materials or ideas, and a desperate, overwhelming need to make Brigid laugh, I turned to the only thing in the house still humming at that hour--the refrigerator. Swiping a cold block of cream cheese from the door and slipping it out of its silvery case, I set to work smoothing and pinching and poking and giggling to myself until I had a pint-sized replica of Rodin's Thinker. Photographing it from all angles, I wrote to Brigid triumphantly, "You think you're disappointed? Look what I was going to bring!"
It was absurd and ridiculous and hysterical, of course, and Brigid wore out her L-O-L keys responding, printing the photos to display in her kitchen from that day forward.
Now, it is a little known fact that, in order to appreciate fine arts and sculpture fully, one must first replicate it in cream cheese, so you can imagine my great joy when we stumbled upon San Francisco's famous statue of the Thinker at the Legion of Honor Art Museum. (Of course, Rodin's piece was not as sensitive and unique as mine, nor can it be served on a bagel, but it has its merits too.)
Our happy discovery took place a little over two weeks ago. The children and I left home early with no definite plans other than a stop at Peet's Coffee. Sipping my latte in the car (life here is so hard), we mulled over possibilities for the day--the San Francisco Zoo? Golden Gate Park? The Muir Woods?
I suggested a patch of green on the map called "Lincoln Park," and the children were eager to try it, hoping for slides and a swingset. The park is an easy drive from our house, yet, for some reason, it never even occurred to me to go there, perhaps because the lure of Golden Gate Park has always been so great. Imagine my surprise to find a rolling golf course overlooking a panorama of the Pacific Ocean and Golden Gate Bridge. In the center of this verdant kingdom of grass and golfballs sat Rodin's Thinker, contemplating his next stroke and enthroned in the columned courtyard of an architectural jewel of an art museum. The Legion of Honor is crammed with works by Monet, Reynolds, Rembrandt, Durer, El Greco, Manet, Bougereau, Rodin, and others, not to mention one of the largest and most stirring collections of religious artwork we have ever seen.
I was thrilled, feeling as if we had just landed with a thump at the end of a rainbow, though it was bittersweet finding the pot of gold so late in our trip. There had been many afternoons and mornings we would have spent wandering the hallways of that museum if we had known of its existence. Joining as members, we began making up for lost time, visiting at every opportunity--not only to the Legion of Honor, but also the de Young Museum, its sister in Golden Gate Park--so much so that the curators and docents now smile with recognition everytime they see us.
Apparently, they appreciate a young family fond of the arts--then again, perhaps my reputation precedes me. Can't you just hear them whispering in awed tones, "There she goes--New York's Cheesiest Artist!"
[Amended to add a link to the photos of The Thinker in cream cheese: Give the People What They Want]
[Please click here for a few more photographs. I put them on a separate page so this one would not be too hard to load.]
[Most of this post was written on August 7, 2007.]
In this video, taken yesterday--our second straight day at the Aquarium--Maureen attempts to get the attention of her otter, luring him with a little known "Otter Attracting Dance." All seems poised to go well, until Mommy delivers one deflating remark.
Forgive me, honey!
We are spending a few days in Monterey, visiting its famous Aquarium and Carmel-by-the-Sea. The children were given two stuffed otter toys as a gift from the hotel, and Maureen happened to bring hers with us to the Aquarium. Imagine her delight when she discovered that a playful otter in the tank was eager for a game with her! A crowd gathered round as Maureen directed his motions as if he was a virtual otter being guided by a mouse.
Several children from the crowd stepped forward attempting the same game, trying everything from wallets to water bottles to attract the otter, but he would only follow Maureen's stuffed toy!
Tucked away in Golden Gate Park--reachable only by a steep and winding path through picturesque woodland--stands this Prayerbook Cross. Commemorating the first use of the Book of Common Prayer on the west coast and modeled after the Celtic crosses of Iona, this imposing cross is the perfect symbol of a Christian people--a people who thought it important enough to station at the highest point in the park, claiming the whole for Christ as decisively as an early explorer planting a flag.
Someday before I know it, I will be sitting by the fire on a winter's night in New York, and my thoughts will turn to San Francisco. When they do, I will smile and envision this cross soaring up to the heavens and kissed by a bright blue sky.
Question from the previous post: "Would anyone care to guess the name of the California town that happens to be our meeting place . . . ?"
Love2learn Mom, the very first commenter, and Kristen Laurence both guessed it--the lovely Santa Maria, California!
Lissa and I had quite a few possible spots picked out, trying to pin down a meeting plan for months--Monterey, Carmel, and San Luis Opisbo, to name but a few. Still, we just kept coming back to Santa Maria as the one place with the right distance and available accommodations. It seemed fairly clear that Our Lady wanted us in her town!
Special honorable mentions go to Clarice and Lynn who guessed Carmel (we tried!) and Mariposa and Jennifer who guessed San Luis Opisbo (we really, really tried!)
And thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the extremely kind comments on "Back to the Future"! Here are some "couch baby" outtakes and other highlights from our all-too-brief visit:
["Here's something I couldn't do last year!" says Rilla.]
["Hey, come back!"]
[Watching arcade games at the Round Table Pizzeria.]
[The temporary twins watch too!]
[Margaret beams over her tenth birthday cake. She said that having Lissa and family there to celebrate was her "best birthday gift ever."]
[Rilla and Maureen took an instant shine to one another, hugging with the most solemn expressions.]
[They were so devoted that I could not stop taking pictures of them standing perfectly still, arms around each other in a comfy hug.]
[After a while, Patrick needed to get into the act!]
The best line of the whole visit came from my good-natured goddaughter Beanie who, after seeing Eileen for the first time in a year, came to me (with an earnest, irresistible expression) to report, "It is almost as if she doesn't remember me!"
Here they are the last time they were together:
Fear not, Beanie! The loving beam of recognition in the picture below shows Eileen won't be forgetting you anytime soon!
One final thought:
I am by nature, an optimist. Reading between the lines of this post, I would say that Lissa has put it on record that visiting me in New York would be even easier than meeting me in the middle of California! Lissa, I'll expect you at the Cottage on August 12, 2008.
[Brigid, we'll get her there yet!]
It does not seem all that long ago I was saying goodbye to Lissa in my driveway at home in New York. She and her little ones had just spent a week with us, and they were returning to Virginia before moving to the other end of the known universe--San Diego, California.
Waving farewell, I remember the heart wrenching thought that we might not see each other again until our children's weddings!
If only someone could have shown me these photos of that darling pair of couch potatoes--together again and crazy about each other--exactly one year later! 
Would anyone care to guess the name of the California town that happens to be our meeting place, not only because of its central location, but also because it was the only one that could accommodate us all on short notice? When you find out, I hope you will agree that it was meant to be.
*I did not even realize it was exactly one year, until taking a look at last year's post only a few moments ago. Amazing!
Patrick sketches Egyptian artifacts at the Legion of Honor Art Museum, San Francisco.
The same day I wrote the post asking the immortal question, "Does the Gunther Family ever stop taking tea?" I received an email from my gracious friend, Gloria, entitled, "Invitation to Tea":
"Could you come to tea at my house on Wednesday? We could do a high tea with sandwiches and scones with lemon curd etc. The girls love having tea parties."
Needless to say, I fired back an immediate response:
"We will come with great joy on Wednesday! Thank you for the invitation to your beautiful home!"
An automatic link to my blog appeared at the end of the message, and Gloria followed it, finding Cottage Blessings for *the first time.* When she read all those posts about the charms of Tea in San Francisco, she laughed out loud, knowing she had invited the right family!
My dear friends, feast your eyes on the spread Gloria provided for us. Its perfect elegance and beauty cannot be captured on film, because you cannot see the well-tended gardens surrounding the house with every sort of blooming or edible growing thing imaginable (all thriving as vibrantly as a Beatrix Potter watercolor) or the detailed architectural elements both inside an out, reminding me of why San Francisco is so famous for this. You cannot see Gloria's dear children showing me their artwork and telling stories, combing and ribboning Maureen's blonde head, or teaching their guests the Virginia Reel! These things are tucked away in my memory, but I know you can imagine them.
I will attempt to relay the menu, hoping not to forget a single delectable bite:
Vanilla Milk Tea
Earl Grey Tea
Cucumber Tea Sandwiches sprigged with mint
Chicken Salad Tea Sandwiches
Date Tea Sandwiches
Peanut Butter and Jelly Triangles (for the very little ones)
Homemade Lemon Scones
Homemade Nutmeg Scones
Homemade Clotted Cream
Homemade Lemon Curd
Red Jam
Assorted Cookies
Miniature Brownies
All of this was served on fine china and an heirloom tablecloth with the strains of Bach and Pachelbel filling our ears.
Gloria thought of everything, and what Victorian Tea would be complete without a charming table for the littler girls?
In the Little Girl World, if you are a friend, you must be picked up. Maureen has found favor with the Princess.
Agnes found a copy of Maria von Trapp's "The Story of the von Trapp Family Singers" on a shelf. Not only did Gloria let her borrow it, she also sang a duet of "The Sound of Music" with Agnes, much to our great delight. Gloria is a Conservatory graduate, and her voice is ethereal!
The only difficulty was peeling my children out at the end--this was not easy, let me tell you. Tea Time in San Francisco keeps getting better and better!
*******
BTW, Gloria is a dear friend of Chari Bryans, not to mention Maria Peceli, Willa Ryan and Erica Sanchez--there is quite a wonderful group of mothers here in the Golden State of California.
A very dear friend of mine once told me she does not especially enjoy looking at her children's baby pictures. It isn't that she does not appreciate them, but that the images are so bittersweet. Seeing those darling faces, she cannot help wishing she could spend some time with her babies once more, holding them in her arms and covering them with kisses.
All seven of mine are still at home, and yet, on occasion, when I come across a picture of Agnes or Theresa as an infant or tow-headed toddler, I feel a slight pang of longing. What I would not give for even an afternoon in our first apartment with those dear babies, rocking them in my arms, reading a story, or singing them off to sleep.
Sometimes, if my children are playing and I am in a position to sit and watch, I like to pretend that I am seeing them in a home movie. In my mind, years and years have passed--they are all grown up and a video of them as they once were is flickering across a screen. No matter what they are doing in the "movie"--whether it be playing and laughing, screaming or creating a mess--they are irresistible and adorable to me, and I watch with new appreciation for the blessing that they are.
When the reel runs out and the houselights of reality are raised again, I scoop them up and cover them with kisses--believe me, it is better than popcorn.
*******
Scenes from some excellent films I have watched lately:
Please do not miss "Light of Life"--A Madonna and Child Icon for our Age, Mary Kochan's interview of Nellie Edwards, an artist who created a beautiful (and tasteful) painting of the Blessed Mother with her unborn Son within her womb.
One of the highlights of the piece for me was an early story of the artist's father and his response to a certain uncouth joke expectant parents hear all too often.
[San Francisco Zoo, July 31, 2007]
It seems my friend Elizabeth Foss and I both have the seasons of motherhood on our minds. I just visited her blog to find this post about "Writer's Block" and a son leaving for college all too soon. Her description of having ideas but not really caring about them right now reminds me of my feelings towards blogging last year when Eileen was born.
Prayers are being said here for Elizabeth, Mike, Michael and the whole family during this bittersweet time.
This time last year, I was barely blogging or even turning on the computer. Our darling Eileen had come to grace our lives forever, and her presence melted all words from my mind. I remember thinking how much I wanted to keep up "Cottage Blessings," but it was just impossible. The problem wasn't primarily a lack of time or energy either--the words simply were not there. Last July's archives contain only four posts: a meme completed by Agnes, a picture of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, a photograph of one-month-old Eileen, and a link to a Cottage Garden post about Luna moths. This July, by contrast, has been my most busy "posting month" ever, with a new entry written almost every day from a City bursting with ideas and inspiration.
Comparing the two Julys side by side, each with its unrepeatable joys, stories and memorable moments--one mostly unwritten and the other well documented--makes me realize more than ever that there is a time in our lives for everything. During some seasons of Motherhood, we are inspired to share our thoughts and stories, and during others we are called to silent reflection. Mary "pondered all these things in her heart."
Often, mothers leave thoughtful notes on their blogs saying, "I'm sorry I have been away so long" or "I have been doing a terrible job in posting." We all strive to be faithful to any task we take up, and it is natural to feel a bit bad when our blogs fall out of rhythm for a while. Still, I would say that this, like so many aspects of Motherhood, is part of God's plan for us. We should expect those inevitable quiet times, not feeling the least bit sorry when they come, but embracing them wholeheartedly.
Let us rejoice in both the stories and the silence.
