Again

https://youtu.be/GF5VDmNq9mk

February 19, 2018

I promise you I don't dwell on loss. It has been part of my life but it is not my life. 

However, last night I was rewatching "Shadowlands." This is the story of CS Lewis and his marriage to Joy Gresham, who (spoiler alert) dies and leaves behind her son, Douglas.

In this scene, the two mourn rather beautifully and heartbreakingly.

I remember standing before my mother's grave and weeping in my father's arms much like this. I can recall countless times I wept alone at night trying to make sense of the loss of my Mom, my Nanny, my Mimi, my Tiff. The list goes on.

But at its purest moment is what is in this clip. 

I sure would like to see them again.

Me too. 

The Strong Ones

A dear friend of mine recently told me that someone with whom I was once allegedly close asked her to lunch. The air was full of all I've done wrong.

I've done a lot wrong. My kids know it. I know it. My friends know it. My parents know it. God knows it.

This friend said this: "There is nothing you can tell me about Nancy that will make me love her less. She is my friend."

I have teared up again and again thinking of her allegiance.

I've considered loyalty in recent days. And forgiveness. I went through a tough spot a few years ago and I have this armful of friends who wouldn't let me sink. They loved me. Saved me. And at a moment's notice, I could call them and say "oh, sweet Jesus, get the tarp! Sh*t just got real!"

Compassion is its own brand of love. I'm grateful I have it. I am grateful my friends have it and show it. 

I couldn't live without it. We all fall short. We need the strong ones to pick us up.

I have strong ones.

-ISM

February 17, 2018

I've never understood discrimination. I've never understood -isms. Racism, sexism. None of it makes sense to me. 

But I've witnessed it. I've experienced it.

When I was in my twenties leading a cast of debaters hither and yon, middle aged bus drivers treated me like a child. I wanted to take their little weenies and tie them around their necks. I had similar feelings about opposing male coaches who spoke condescendingly to me or looked me up and down just before my squad kicked their squads squarely in the tails. Ha!

I just watched "Battle of the Sexes:" the Billie Jean King v. Bobby Riggs tale. So I'm a tad lit up. It's a very good thing I was born after so many wonderful women fought for us. I cannot get over some of what people endured and/or deemed acceptable. The good Lord knew I should be born after the height of the fight.

I think what puzzles me most is any true Christian who believes that if your skin is white or you if have a penis you are superior in some way.

I want to say this: my father--surrounded by and instructing athletics his whole life and who has a daughter and a son--never once made me feel an ounce inferior because I am female. If anything, he just made me strive to be the best because he was and continues to be the best. I have not always met that standard, but it isn't because I don't have a weewee. Good grief.

Here's to all the people who believe we are equal. I have a sneaking suspicion God is rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

I just hope I make it up there to check some day. And that Nanny is there taking a long drag and saying, "you were right, honey. You were right."

Faith that Trembles

February 16, 2018

When horrific things happen, I tend to dwell on them. I try to make sense of them. I tend to fail at the sense-making.

In the wake of the Florida school shooting I have obsessed, then turned away, then considered what I would do if my child had been killed or hurt. I'm afraid all my feelings about guns and mercy and grace would combust if some asshole sonofabitch killed or hurt Gracie or Drew. 

My heart aches constantly for the ones in the mire of this loss.

I grew up in the church. I grew up in the arms of mercy and grace. I have failed again and again in the wake of my upbringing. Perhaps because I have a child the age of these victims, I am struggling more than ever to understand what is happening. I love Jesus. But why oh why must we live in a fallen world? We have an omnipotent God. Did He HAVE to create a weak-kneed apple eater? (And I'm still not over it being a woman, p.s.) Couldn't he have instilled a tad more spine and moral fortitude in all of us so I, for example, wouldn't have so many personal hot mess moments? And so complete horrors like school shootings, rapes, murders, abuse wouldn't happen?

I am sure there is a Bible study or several sermons that could assuage my complete malaise. I am sure I should find them. For now, I pray for answers and forgiveness for questioning the Almighty. Because I don't get it. At. All.

I have faith. But that's all I have. And sometimes, it trembles.

The Thing About the Dogs

February 7, 2018

I know I send out probably too many pics of my two dogs. Allow me to explain.

I had always wanted a dog. My life previous to this one wouldn't allow it. The day after I singularly announced that our life was changing, Gracie and I were in Target. All of a sudden, she stopped in her tracks and squealed: "oh my gosh! Now we can get a dog!" 

And together we went to the Humane Society thereafter and found our little girl. Seven months later, she talked me into another one. Oscar came into our lives and they became best friends and my bed mates.

It is hard for me when the kids are gone. It is hard when a dog shats in the hall. It is hard when they wake me at 6am on a Saturday, or when I spend hundreds on training that I'm too weak to make work.

But these babies are my besties. They keep me sane when my human loves are gone. They keep us safe. They drive my Dad completely insane.

I am deeply grateful for Halpert and Oscar. I had no idea what I had been missing. But I know now what I have.

What Went Right (ahem)

February 6, 2018

When I was a kid living with my grandparents and father, my Nanny and Papa would snooze in the afternoon when I came home from Kindergarten. When they would pass out during the soap operas, I would get busy.

Picture a 5 year old Nancy with a bowl cut and a glimmer in her eye acting out every commercial she had ever seen. I was a television addict. It was my next best friend. I'm not proud.

I had seen EVERY COMMERCIAL EVER MADE. I broke a Dexatrim or Comtrex into a ziplock and hid it under the bed. I cut into Dad's Old Spice because the Irish Spring commercials suggested that was a great idea. I broke eggs on the counter for reasons that escape me. 

Nanny would wake up, her wig askew, light up a Viceroy and see the evidence of my hijinx. A report would be filed with Dad and I would get my comeuppance.

But the best day was the day Papa found a half drunk beer beneath a bush in the back. "Bill," he said, "I think Nancy's been in the beer." They never suspected my brother.

I got some more comeuppance. I had clearly done a five year old cost-benefit analysis and decided it was worth it to give it a shot.

It was worth it just to be able to tell that story.

Life over on South Rogers was lively. More stories will pour forth as I remember them.

I can still smell that house. I can still hear the front door open. I can still feel myself snuggle into Nanny's orange recliner next to her.

I can still feel the love I felt there. And how much I miss it. And them. The pipe, the ciggie holder, the experimental afternoons. Much went wrong with my early days. All that? It went right.

The Best

February 2, 2018

There are people who roll through life without a best friend. I can't imagine it. Some of us are blessed with a cadre of very special friends. People who care. People who love you. People who will show up with shovels and tarps if there is a body to bury.

I haven't killed anyone, FYI.

My very best friend for more than half my life is Sarah. We became close when I was in college and she was in graduate school. She became my nearest and dearest. 

I will never forget her coming to see me in the hospital after I had Gracie. She was wearing the bridesmaid's dress she wore in my wedding. She had been at an event that required a formal gown and came as soon as she could. I was still sort of flat on my back in the delivery room and they had taken the baby to do whatever it is they do when a new little person emerges. It was just Sarah and me. I sat up and my belly all of a sudden sort of plunked down: all that extra flesh and the fetus out. "Oh, Nance," she said. It was a solid best friend moment.

Then there was a moment when I was breast pumping both of my udders at the same time while watching the "Golden Girls" and she rolled in. I didn't flinch, nor did she. She is my soul sister.

We have finished each other's sentences. Been in each other's weddings. Laughed and talked and understood. "Taught" preschool Sunday School just so we could see each other. Traveled. Taken care. Her capacity for kindness is unending and far beyond mine. Her children are mine and mine hers.

There is nothing I wouldn't do for her or them.

Our lives have diverged in recent years. Busy, demanding. And we don't spend the time together we used to. But it doesn't matter. The minute we speak it is us. And we will converge again. Soon.

I know people without besties. I know Lavernes with no Shirleys. Every day of my life, I'm so grateful I'm not among them.

I love you, Sar.