Cottage Blessings

Near and Dear

[September 21st, outside Our Lady of the Angelus Church, Rego Park, NY]

Prayers for my aunt

Dear Friends,

My beloved aunt is having serious surgery today. Would you please offer a prayer for her, and for my uncle, who is feeling worried?

St. Therese, pray for us!
St. Joseph, pray for us!
Our Lady of the Rosary, pray for us!

[Almost 6 pm on the east coast: Amended to report that my aunt is doing incredibly well after surgery. Thank you so much for all the prayers--they helped tremendously!]

[Friday Morning, September 21, My aunt has a fever--please keep those prayers coming.]

[Sunday, October 14th, updated to say that my aunt is doing extremely well and will (hopefully) be home in about a week. Thank you all for praying!]

A Step Back in Time

The Roman city of Pompeii, suddenly decimated by the wrath of Mount Vesuvius, is, as you know, a perfectly preserved example of an Ancient Roman town. There to this day you will find uncracked eggs gathered in a bowl, a leashed dog curled in endless sleep, pots and pans left set to boil upon the fire--the precise and permanent picture of life as it was at a distinct moment in time.

This was exactly the way we found things here at home upon our return from San Francisco.

The truth is that I had done no preparation for our three month trip, hurling some clothes in a box to be shipped to our destination one or two days before leaving New York and that's about it. Upon our return, I was amazed to find the house exactly as we had left it, the perfect time capsule of our life back in May. A script from A Midsummer Night's Dream sat splayed on its spine; a Scrabble game in progress awaited a next move on the coffee table; a pitcher of pink peonies drooped forlornly on the mantle, the centerpiece from our almost forgotten Rhododendron Tea.

The Mary Garden outside, long neglected and left to nature, reminded me of Sleeping Beauty's Castle, the green things embracing Our Lady so that we could hardly find her. Full grown melons we had never planted huddled beneath the hostas, their vines and yellow blooms crocheted in a chain stitch throughout the unruly bed. Tomatoes sprang up mysteriously, the evidence of a child's afternoon snack all those months ago.

It was only yesterday--believe it or not--that I entered the learning room in the cottage for the first time, surprised to find scrap paper, books, blocks--all left in their places since May. I reached for a garbage bag, tossing the useless papers indiscriminately, when my eye fell upon a bright yellow sheet covered in numbers. It was Agnes' scrap paper from last year's foray into Algebra. Words were written on one side that made me laugh out loud--the "doodling" of a student whose mind was evidently more on Shakespeare and A Midsummer Night's Dream (not to mention escape!) than anything else.

Here is her simple [she's only changed a few words from the original], yet amusing, parody of Nick Bottom's speech to the "Wall" from Pyramus and Thisbe, the play within a play:

O grim-look'd math! O math with print so black!
O math, which ever art when play is not!
O math, O math! alack, alack, alack,
I fear my mother's promise is forgot!
And thou, O door, O sweet, O lovely door,
That stand'st between the smaller house and mine!
Thou door, O door, O sweet and lovely door,
Show me thy pane, to blink through with mine eyne!

Thanks, courteous door:
Jove shield thee well for this!
But what see I?
No recess do I see.
O wicked door, through whom I see no bliss!
Cursed be thy wood for thus deceiving me!

*******

I must admit to enjoying this visit to our lives as they were in May.

Still, I think it may be time for a bit of spring cleaning to bring us back into the present!

[This is the 500th Cottage Blessings post.]

Sun-bleached bones, gargoyles, and one unlucky elk

can only mean one thing:

One of my favorite people in the world has a brand new blog!

And the memorable stories are just beginning to pour in!

Remembering September 11th

The Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows is going on now. May the victims and heroes of September 11th rest in peace.

Please pray especially for my grammar school classmate, Gerald O'Leary, and his brother-in-law, both killed in the attacks, and Stephen Tomsett, a father and fellow lector.

Now I know we are home

because the First Communicants are back!

We will miss our "Blessed Mother Blue," but "Cottage Garden Green" is nice too!

Here, for posterity, is our San Francisco blog banner photo of Maureen by the Bay. Thanks again to Lissa for turning both these memorable images into banners for me!

Love2Learn Mom meets Alice in Blunderland (complete without pictures)

What was Love2Learn Mom expecting?

We had only been planning her San Francisco visit for two short months (OK, maybe three). How could I possibly be ready when she arrived with a mere two or three months to prepare? And surely, she was not expecting for the children to be dressed or for us to have food or water in the house? Where on earth was I supposed to get food and water with only three months' notice?

If the incomparably endearing and good-humored Alicia was expecting the author of Cottage Blessings to be a gracious hostess--or even a normal human being--that folly was dashed within moments of entering our fabled manse in San Francisco. We were preparing to leave town only a few days later, and to say that I had lost control of things would be putting it mildly. When the doorbell rang at our appointed hour, I was on the phone upstairs, barely aware that the morning was over and our long awaited date had arrived. I bolted down the grand staircase in bare feet, greeting my hapless guest with apologies for everything from the bedraggled state of my hair to the sundry odds and ends collected (and waiting to go in boxes addressed for home) in the formerly beautiful front hallway.

Alicia laughed and smiled, merrily enduring the endless comedy routine I automatically go into whenever things go awry. [If you have ever seen a mother bird squawking and awkwardly feigning a broken wing to draw attention away from her hidden young, you will know about how delicately I use humor to keep guests' minds off my shortcomings.] We sat chatting in the living room--feeling uncannily like old friends [complete and utter disarray will do that]--while the children appeared in dribs and drabs like dwarves to the house of Beorn.

Or perhaps more like timid munchkins: "Come out, come out, wherever you are, and greet the young lady fresh from a cable car . . . ."

Not at all surprisingly, Alicia--a San Franciscan at heart--loved the grand old house, which was still glorious in spite of all the living we had done in it. She was at once taken with our large collection of books (amassed during a three month reading frenzy on all things San Francisco) poring over them with alacrity. If Alicia noticed that the baby was undressed and covered in pen marks from shoulder to foot or that Patrick and Maureen were wearing a layer of morning cereal on their shirts, she did not let on.

Before long, she found herself riding shotgun in the big white van, rolling up and down break-neck hills and bound for Golden Gate Park. We introduced her to one of our dearest friends and sipped tea in The Japanese Tea Garden. Over cups of Oolong, I took out my trusty digital camera only to discover that the memory card was back home in the card reader!

Alicia took the picture below at my urging. The purple plum in the center is actually Marie's San Francisco Zoo cap. It fell off her head as she leaned over the Drum Bridge to look for Koi and seemed to me the perfect still life representing the quirky things that kept happening that day. More than once, I found myself repeating, "You know, Alicia, we are not usually like this" or "I'm not really this ditzy, honestly, this is very unusual for me." Dear soul that she is, Alicia almost looked convinced!

Perhaps my favorite line from the entire day came from my daughter Agnes--it was uttered with heartfelt sincerity and spoke perfectly for all of us: "Mrs. ___, we have only known you for an hour now, but already I feel as if I am going to miss you."

And miss Alicia we do!!!

We would like to have another day just like it in New York, but this time with Alicia's children along as well!

*******
Trivia question: While in San Francisco, we had the pleasure of seeing both the wonderful Diane and the fabulous Alicia (among other friends). What other blogging Mommy greeted the same two guests this summer?

Pink blur captured on film

Taking Care

I just noticed something fascinating and could not resist sharing the observation here.

In the recent post, Daddy has the last word, I told about finding a forgotten Loreto holy card with a prayer for aviators purchased at the Mission San Rafael. The timing (just before our flight home) was so perfect that I wrote, "The Blessed Mother is not slow to let us know she is caring for us, sometimes even before we remember to ask for her help."

Just now, I was looking over posts from the San Francisco trip--we've only been home a week, and already I'm reminiscing--and came across the story of Maria, the woman who treated our family so kindly at the Mission San Rafael. Reading that account again all these weeks later, I cannot help but be amazed to note that Maria's parting words to me (and I would have no recollection of this if it had not been written down) were "the Blessed Mother always takes care of us."

Suddenly, these words have taken on new significance, and you may be sure I will be pondering them for quite some time.

Our Lady of Loreto, pray for us!

Give the people what they want

"Nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely."

--Auguste Rodin

By popular demand ("popular" meaning, at least one or two people), I give you Rodin's Thinker in cream cheese (circa 2001):

"The modes of expression of men of genius differ as much as their souls."

--Auguste Rodin

Daddy gets the last word

The night before our flight home to New York, I was feeling like a cat in a violin factory. When we touched ground in San Francisco back in June, I had made a mental note never to get on a plane again. The turbulence and tight quarters had left me rattled, and I resolved to spend three months figuring out some other way to get home, even if it meant hopping on board a freight train with a can of beans in a bandana suspended from a stick. Now here I was getting ready for a 6 o'clock in the morning flight with no small measure of trepidation.

Daddy was more than a little bit surprised when I revealed my misgivings to him [I had not let on before], but there was nothing he could do. Eight expensive, non-refundable tickets had been purchased, and nine Gunthers would be 30,000 feet in the air the next day. There was no way around it.

Last minute packing and tidying was keeping me busy during those final hours, and I walked around our beloved San Francisco House saying a silent goodbye to every crevice and corner, trying to memorize the feel of the fabric under my fingertips, the old-time smell of gasoline emanating from the furniture, and the glint of streetlights filtering through the lace paneled curtains. A last minute drawer inspection revealed a holy card of Our Lady of Loreto. I smiled to myself, glad we did not leave this image of Our Lady behind--she was beautifully depicted holding her infant Son before the house in Nazareth and bourne along by two angels. The vaguest of all recollections returned to me, and I remembered one of the children asking for the card at the Mission San Rafael months ago. I flipped the picture over and found a prayer which, under the circumstances, took my breath away. It was entitled, "Our Lady of Loreto, protect my flight":

Our Lady of Loreto,
benevolent patroness of aviators,
protect and guide me on my flight.

Look upon me with your gentleness, O Mary,
and upon all I travel with.

Shelter us from harm,
Blessed Mother,
and lead us safely
to our destiny.

Amen.

The Blessed Mother is not slow to let us know she is caring for us, sometimes even before we remember to ask for her help. I offered the prayer to her with all my heart and impulsively posted it to the Cottage of Loreto Novena group, knowing the good people there would not mind this unusual personal request.

Planning to leave the house by three in the morning, Daddy and I did not sleep at all that night, and before we knew it, we were waking the children--all groggy eyed and fully dressed--and loading them into the big white van for the last time. In keeping with our theme of "San Francisco Serendipity," there was a lunar eclipse that night. We watched the moon turn from gold to crimson, waxing low on the horizon like a dull setting sun.

By the time we returned the van to Hertz and made our way through some exceedingly tight security, we arrived at our plane with--I kid you not--four minutes to board. Although the airline had assured us of the high likelihood of sitting together when we purchased the block of eight tickets, all the assigned seats were individual. Even three year old Maureen was sitting on her own in a middle seat between two adults. Complicating the arrangement further, Eileen and I were bumped up to first class, leaving Daddy and the children to their own devices and dotted all around Coach.

Although this sounds like a recipe for disaster, the flight went remarkably well (for all of us). Gazing out the window at the vastness of our beautiful country, I was completely at peace, interested in everything and not the least bit on edge. My "fear of flying"--something that has caused me to avoid air travel for almost ten years--evaporated like morning dew, and I knew it was thanks to Our Lady of Loreto and the prayers of the Novena group. [So complete was my transformation that I was already thinking about taking the children to Ireland, something that never even occurred to me before.] In my mind's eye, I pictured angels, just like the ones in the holy card, ushering the plane to Kennedy Airport under the watchful eye of Our Lady and her Son.

Happily settled at home the next day, Daddy and I went out to dinner for the first time since leaving New York all those months before. We talked about so many things by the flickering candlelight that night, the vivid memories of San Francisco still more real to us than Long Island in some ways. From a speaker in the distance, Frank Sinatra was crooning "Luck be a Lady Tonight," barely audible over the din of patrons chattering at the bar. Our check paid and two side by side coffee cups almost empty, we were just about to leave, when Frank's voice mellowed into the familiar standard, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." We lingered at the table a moment, listening to lyrics we never truly understood before, but now could have written ourselves:

"I left my heart in San Francisco, high on a hill it calls to me
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars.
The morning fog may chill the air, I don't care.

I left my heart in San Francisco . . . ."

With that, Daddy reached across the table and squeezed my hand, saying in his solid, earnest way, "I brought mine home with me."

That was almost a week ago now, but I don't think the smile has left my lips since.