Grace-Full

Saving Grace.

We hear that so often. It's a movie. It's a tv show. It's a song. It's the title of many books. It's the name of countless organizations. Google "saving grace" and you'll find all sorts of websites with variations of the term. In our society, we mostly use the expression to talk about one's redeeming qualities. For example: Her saving grace when she passes out from drinking has always been her ability to keep her panties on. And if I am remembering what I learned in Catholic schools correctly, Grace in the Church is what God grants us in order to be free from all of our sins. It is also a state of God, if I'm not mistaken. We all sin. We all have darkness. But we also all have grace. We all have God in us. So, no matter what your demons are, grace is always there . . .. God is always there . . . in each of us . . ..to free us . . . so that no matter what, we are still good. We are full of Grace. It's saving us.

I love this idea of it always being around to save us. Perhaps it's because I'm so terribly flawed. I did, in fact, grow up thinking that the Rolling Stones were referring to me when they sang, "graceless lady." And maybe it's my own flaws that have allowed me to easily find other people's saving graces. Give me the most horrible person that you can find, and I'll point out a good quality. I might point out several. The difference between the "good" qualities that I find and the goodness that the universe/God/yourself/Love might find, is that the ones I discover might not be profound enough to redeem one. However, the qualities God sees are enough to allow you to be forgiven. Does this make sense? For example, give me a murderer. You paint the picture as it doesn't really matter since all murderers are bad. I can find value in his artwork or in the gardens that he grows or in his ability to nurture his three cats. This person isn't completely horrible. So, you might agree that the killer has some value, but that value isn't enough to redeem him of his unimaginable behavior. God's Love (or the universe's Love or the Love that is just residing in you or whatever you chose to call it) . . .his Grace . . .is enough to matter. So even this terrible person can receive Grace and be forgiven. He can still bathe in the God/Love/Grace that is each of ours. It can save him.

It saddens me that we don't make lists of our saving graces. Instead, we are constantly reminding ourselves of our faults . . .which is maybe the opposite of Grace? Maybe the opposite of grace isn't the actual bad behavior, but the act of dwelling on it or pointing it out. It seems that if this were the case, that dwelling would be the most upsetting thing we could do to our creator . . .since he is only offering us a state of Grace (forgiveness/love/him). So, I'm thinking today that we need to change the dialogue. Maybe just today we can focus on our own and each other's good parts. Let the bashing slide on past you. Only invite Grace in today. Only give out Grace. Bathe in the Saving Grace.

Digging Graves at Midnight

My girl died last night.  Sweet Madde.  She was my pretty princess.  

Fourteen years ago this past June, my boyfriend Bob and I went to the Humane Society to pick out a new puppy for me.  She was in the first kennel that I came to.  She was the first puppy that I held that day.  Gosh, she was so awkward looking.  She was tiny.  She could fit in my hand and her ears were bigger than the rest of her body and stood straight up.  There were about 5 or so other puppies in that room with her, but she was the last of her litter and the runt according to the volunteers there.  She looked like the runt of the whole pound, not just her litter,  and she stood in the far back right corner like she knew her place in the world.  She probably didn't have any hope.  At least she looked that way.  Puppy eyes.  Big, brown hopeless puppy eyes.  But with those eyes she saw me.  If you've ever picked out an animal from a shelter, you know what I mean by this.  Sometimes animals see you and you see them.  You just know that you were meant to be together.  I knew it with her.  It was love at first site.  Love.  I gave her hope.  I know I gave her hope because I put her down and continued through the whole puppy section holding every little baby there.  Then I worked my way back down the aisle holding them all a second time until I reached the beginning and came to her again.  This time though, she barked incessantly.  She was screaming at me.  "Hello!  It's me!  Don't screw up the ways of the world!  I was put here for you!  It's me!  I'm yours!"  So I picked her up and took her home.  From then on, she rode shotgun with me.  

I can't possibly begin to go through the ins and outs of our relationship or to document the adventures we shared.  We've had so many special moments.  But I'll just sum it up by saying that together, we've been to every corner of this country, floated down raging rivers,  held summer jobs, pissed off roommates, seen countless loves come and go, brought in many other animals, started the process of raising little boys, and dealt with sickness like no others could.  She has always been a trooper and lived a great life.  And she was always, always been free to roam.  The freedom wasn't probably the safest, but she was the kind of girl that needed wide open spaces and knowing that she had that comforts me today.

For the last couple of years, she has been slow going.  She didn't run anymore.  She never roamed off anymore.  And she went completely blind two years ago.  She never really seemed to mind though.  She stayed happy.  She had bad arthritis so in the past year especially, she spent a lot of time napping.  She spent so much time napping that for the  past 12 months, I've at some point in each day checked to see if she was still breathing.  The last two months have been especially trying for her.  It's also been tough on me.  She lost control of eliminating herself and that made for a ton of frustration.  I have had to clean up poop and pee messes at least 4 times a day  . . . and it was the terrible, terrible kind.  It got so bad, that I've had to put her in the garage every time I left even if it's just for 10 minutes.  And even that was an ordeal because she couldn't see to go around outside to the garage and her arthritis was too bad to walk down the stairs to get there, so I  had to carry her down the stairs every time.  And she wasn't a small dog by any means.  Talking to the vet, it seemed as if she was suffering from dementia too so we took her in a month ago to see if it "was time."  I had gone through forever thinking I could never make that sort of decision, but she seemed to be living such a half-ass life that I thought we should at least get a professional opinion.  Getting to the point of just going to see was an extremely hard day.  Jeff took her.  We had decided that if they thought it was a good idea, that we'd bring the boys in and we'd all say goodbye.  My 9 year old sat in my arms the whole time they were gone and we cried and cried.  Then Jeff showed back up with Madde and told us that the vet thought that she had two good years left in her. . . .he couldn't believe how happy and vibrant she still was.  But that was my girl.  Even throughout all of her suffering, she could always crack a smile.  She was so sweet.  Of course then I felt horrible!  I had never been able to do that and when I had finally come to "maybe" terms, I was told that it wasn't time!  So we both kept on.  We have both struggled for a while.  I've had countless friends tell me that I must really love her .. .. that's how difficult it has been.  But I couldn't imagine not having done it for her.  She had always been such a treasure for me.

And I have to think that I was her treasure too.  I had been gone for four days and she waited until I got home to say hello . . .or maybe goodbye . . . before she wandered off for one last romp on her own.  She didn't make it far.  I found her about three houses down resting in the neighbor's driveway.  It was terrible.  I was a pathetic mess.  I got so angry.  It just made me so mad.  The image of her sweet little body in the ground will be one that I will never be able to get out of my head.  I went to bed and dreamed that she wasn't really dead, but instead just resting like all of those other times that I thought she wasn't breathing, and she dug her way out of her grave.  But she was still under the dirt this morning.  And I'm still in bed this evening.  My heart aches.  I keep waiting for her to show up at the back door.  I know she's gone, but I just don't think I am ready to accept it.  I want her back.    

Madde, you were a gift.  You brought me more joy than you will ever know.  You were my first.  You were my other half.  I feel lost without you today.  But I know that you were tired.  And I want you to rest.  I will miss you pretty girl.  I love you.

  

It's Easy

I've decided that I'm not going to go through all of the particular things women want.  There are just too many little things that I could go on and on about and it would be never ending.  And also I had a well-meaning male friend tell me that guys don't really care what women want.  But let me sum it up quickly, just in case you (the one male reader that I might have) are hanging on the edge of your seat:  We are simple creatures.  Whatever man decided to spread the rumor that we are complicated just did that to get himself and all of the others off of the hook for their stupid behavior. . . .How was I to know when you're so complicated?  The only thing really required of you is to appreciate how wonderful we are.  To be validated.  Just like you men, that's all we need.  

Our Simple Rules for Loving Women

I'm sitting here enjoying McDonald's coffee with my Jen Thal.  I hate McDonald's and all of their fillers, but they make the greatest cup of black coffee and it goes especially well with our problem solving that we love to do in the morning.  

Today's topic is:  What Women Want

(Jen thinks I should let you know that we're not talking about the Mel Gibson movie.)

We stumbled upon this subject because our mutual friend recently received two tickets to a beach in Mexico from her man, but she was a little ungrateful because it had taken 10 years of begging and pleading and one good night of crying in order to prompt her man to run down to the travel agency and purchase said tickets and he hadn't just done the romantic deed on his own.  I told her that men don't know.  They really need specific instructions.  So we are helping you .  Your lady doesn't want to tell you to plan a trip, she wants you to do it on your own.  So rule number one (these are in no specific order because we will post more important rules in the following segments) is:  Women want two tickets to paradise given to them as a surprise because you are so romantic that you just know how to do that kind of stuff.  We will love you for it and pack quickly.

Also, we just want to have fun.  This fun can translate into many things, but for our purposes, we'll be a little specific.  If we're at a party and need to shake it and you don't want to shake it with us, we're still gonna shake it.  You can watch if you want.  Don't poop on our party.  What would be even cooler is if you could take us out dancing despite the fact that you might not really want to join us!  This will work in your favor.  And again, in reference to the first rule, if you want to really wow us, make that dancing date a surprise.  So rule number two is:  Girls just want to have fun and we would love it if you'd join us.

More rules to come in the following days.

Ladies, what do you think?  We have a running list, but would love to hear your desires . . .your desires through song.

togetherness

so after that, we dated and things moved quickly in our relationship.  in fact, he moved in with me within 6 months.  i had moved out of the hawkins street house and into my very own teeny tiny one-bedroom apartment.  there was barely any room to turn around in it, but i loved it.  it was mine.  i had always had roommates and was eager to have things go specifically how i intended.  for instance, if i emptied the trash can, it would still be empty when i came home from class.  or when bought a carton of orange juice, but didn't want to drink it for a week, it would still be unopened when i finally decided to take the vitamin c plunge.  i loved living on my own.  it was simple.  just me and my madde.   

then, he proposed to me.  it was an especially unromantic moment on our way back to murfreesboro after a visit with the family in chattanooga.  he pulled right over in a dentist's office parking lot as the sun was going down and presented me with the most beautiful ring i had ever seen.  despite the proposal, the ring was romantic.  his mom had given him her first set of wedding bands to give to me.   (she had moved up in the world of diamonds . . . on to bigger and better things.)  i never saw what those rings looked like, but apparently they were not my style.  so, he took the rings to a jeweler where he saw a beautiful antique engagement ring in the window and asked the guy if he could melt his mom's rings and place the diamonds in a setting that perfectly mimicked the antique.  the story goes that it took the jeweler several times before it finally came out correctly.  but when he finally achieved the goal, the result was stunning.  i had never owned a real diamond and suddenly i had this nice big one amongst several tiny ones sitting right there on my finger.  i said yes and didn't take my eyes off of my hand for at least a week straight.

after that, we figured it was okay to live in sin because we were engaged and in our hearts, we were already married.  we just lacked the piece of paper.  plus we were spending so much time together, that it made sense economically to just narrow our lives down to one place.  we told our mothers and they hated this idea, but my mom didn't go too crazy as i agreed to at least graduate from college before i took my vows.  so, this was sort of a compromise.  it was really full speed ahead at that point.  

in our full speed couple life, we sat down to have a slow moment and watch the history channel one night and some band-of-brothers type show came on about vietnam or world war two and the continuous theme was camaraderie between the men.  i admit, it was really cool to hear those guys talk about each other like they were family.  they had experienced something together that no one else could ever understand.  anyway, jeff turned to me and said, i think i'll join the military.  SCREEEEEEECH!  someone must've pulled the needle off of the record, because i swear i just heard my fiance tell me that he wants to join the military!  say what?  let me preface this whole thing by saying that i had already picked up my peace corps application and was giving serious thought to applying after i received my degree . . .in sociology and anthropology and women's studies because i was a peace-corps joining kind of lady  . . . .the kind that studied anthropology because it was going to be super cool to travel the world and hang out with various natives of various lands while digging trenches so that they could have a clean water supply!   and now you, my disheveled hippyesque fiance, you want to grab a gun and go to war? this caused quite an uproar!  and his mother . . .oh god bless her!  if you think having your 20 year old baby move into a cramped apartment with a lady 3 years older than him upset her, you can imagine what the thought of this did for her nerves.  she cried and cried and was so worried that he'd get hurt or die or ruin his life.  but he didn't care what we wanted.  he went the very next day to the army recruitment office and somehow the air force got a hold of him and within less than two months, i finished school and we were packing up the smallest uhaul we could find and moving to texas where he would do his tech-school training.  i had come around and gotten on board with the whole idea because the recruiter kept telling me over and over that we could travel the world.

so, we got to texas.  wichita falls, tx . . .one of the craziest places i've ever been.  he was set to leave for 7ish weeks of basic training, but after that, he'd live in wichita falls for a few months for his school.  the idea was that it would be nice for me to be in one set place for 6 months instead of 2 months at home with the folks and then 3 or 4 with him before our first assignment.  we had two weeks of togetherness in texas before he took the train to san antonio.  in that two weeks, we rented an apartment, i found a job, jeff turned 21, and in our full-on fashion . . .in less than a year after we had met, we ran over to the courthouse and got married.

How We Met

We met my during my last year of college.  I was super busy.  I had a huge schedule with a maximum load of school hours, worked full time slinging drinks at a bar until all hours of the night, and was also working with 11 other women to create a state-wide women's leadership conference.  I was really too busy to be involved with someone.  It was in that bar that I spotted Jeff one afternoon playing pool with my friend Lew.  They had just moved into town.  He was really handsome.  He was disheveled handsome.  He had on long jeans, a dirty shirt, and his hair was all a mess curling up around his big, blue eyes.  He was pretty.  And he was hot.  He turned heads.  Nothing major happened that day.  We just said hi.   And in fact, that day was so uneventful that he doesn't even remember meeting me so I obviously didn't make a significant impression on him.  

He actually has a totally different story.  He says we met at my house one night.  Maybe I just looked prettier that night than I did in my working-girl mode at that bar and that's when he actually saw me.  I lived with a couple of boys on Hawkins Street in Murfreesboro where there was never a dull moment.   We were having a party one evening celebrating nothing, I'm sure.  I remember walking through the kitchen towards the door that was opened up to the back yard.  I can still see it clearly.  There were several people sitting outside sort of circled around each other.  Jeff was sitting on the side of the circle that positioned him so I could see his face while walking towards the door.  He was just as stunning as before.  But this time, he saw me.  And I could feel him seeing me.   I'm sure I blushed as I went on about my way to enjoy the good times.  But I don't think he stopped watching me.  One of my roommate's girlfriends cornered me inside later and told me that Jeff thought I was beautiful.  So that did it.  I flirted.  With my eyes.  I don't think I really even talked to him too much.  But we both knew.  So the night ended and that was that.  Until he called.  He called!!!!  Well, he didn't really call me, but he called.   I had just gotten back from a camping trip and hadn't showered in 3 or 4 days and I was raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanky nasty.  He was calling the house to see if anyone wanted to go hang out for a bit . . .you know, like called to see if "the guys" wanted to hang out.  But they were gone!!!!  Yippy!  I don't know where they were, but they were gone and everyone else that Jeff knew was unavailable to hang out too, so out of sheer  boredom and the need to have a little conversation that Sunday afternoon, he gave in to his only available option:  Me!!!  I went to hang out all stinky and smelling like a campfire and with all sorts of leaves dangling from my wild hair.  I went as I was and he liked it.  Again it was playful and innocent and nothing major happened except that it set the stage for it to keep happening.  He would keep calling.  One night, he called to see if I was going to a friend's party and when I told him that I couldn't because I was studying until 11ish, he said that he'd leave the party and come get me then.  Thinking about it now, I see possible motivations on his part to come get me that I didn't see then and the waiting to get me is  probably not really that big of a deal.  But at the time, it just seemed so considerate.  It seemed so nice that at 6:00, he decided he would wait to see me so that I could study.  Most guys would have either tried to talk me out of staying in or found an alternative girl to spend the evening with.  But not him.  I was too busy.  And he waited.  

The whole obsession and chasing of beauty baffles me. It seems that everyone I know is really unhappy with their physical looks. And at least half of them . . . more really . . . have undergone surgery to correct something that feels wrong. Don't get me wrong, I have many, many moments where I am unhappy with my looks. For instance, the other day I was looking through a friend's photos from a night when we went out to dinner. Instead of remembering how incredibly perfect my seared halibut over chickpea stew was or how the laughter we shared was more than perfect, I thought, well, there's the 15 pounds put on during the last year. It was right there. But at least I can pretend that the concern over the 15 pounds is about health, not beauty . . . .Right? All of this is swirling around in my head in part because I read segments of a Patricia Arquette interview. I love her. I've always loved her because she has this sense of herself that isn't always seen in Hollywood. She seems to have an I-make-no-bones-about-myself way. She just is who she is. She has curves and those look better than most of her shapeless counterparts. In the interview, she explains that she didn't feel like straightening her teeth for other people that said, "Oh you're so pretty. You should have your teeth straightened." I love this. I can relate so much. I wouldn't do braces even after someone in high school referred to me as Bugs Bunny. In college, my mom called saying, "This is your last chance. The dental plan only covers braces until you turn 18." No way! This is me, mom. This is who I am. They work. I regretted that as I got older, but have come back around to embracing them in the last year or so. I also didn't do makeup for a long time. I took the plunge into powder and gloss the last year at MTSU and finally a full-face after getting married. Today, I can barely leave home without said face and have often thought that if I were stranded on a desert island, I'd at least want mascara. But honestly, sometimes on a good day when I'm really hydrated and exfoliated, I think my face looks best in its natural state. I could go on and on with my love-hate relationship with my looks, but mostly, I'm ok with it . . . .at least ok enough to not have major surgery to change things. And there is plenty that could be changed. My nose is too big, my belly needs tucked, things need to be lifted, reduced, etc.. But what is the point? Are people really so unhappy with themselves? What's wrong with looking like yourself? Why do you need your bustline to be so many inches and your hair a different color and parts of your face to remain immobile? What is it about changing these things that makes your life so much better? If Kanye West's mom knew the alternative to dying would have been to live with her ugly parts, would she have accepted herself? I've only found 3-4 white hairs on my head, but I really want to embrace the whiteness when it comes. I imagine being like Bonnie Raitt with her super-power streaks. But who knows, maybe when it comes in all gray and ugly instead of snow white and beautiful, I'll break out some dye. But I like to imagine that I'll keep to my same ways and be ok with myself.  We'll see!