Those who know me well know that I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for a long time. If I were allowed to blog about fabulous daughter Sarah, I would say that she made it very clear that if I got a tattoo my motherhood status would sink to zero. Since I never wanted her to dye her hair and she hasn’t, I have steered away from the parlors that beckon.
When asked what I want to brand myself with, my answer has never wavered. The word Grace. It’s my favorite word and most elusive selfie adjective.
When someone moves with Grace, they are a joy to watch. I am athletic through DNA, but not filled with Grace in my movement. I’m more power based.
My words are occasionally eloquent, but they are never filled with Grace. They are sometimes funny, but never filled with Grace. Would it be that they were!
And, I’ve lamented for many, many years my inability to incorporate grace into my persona. My apologies are not graceful. The bottom line here is that no one would ever use Grace in their description of me.
Then yesterday, President Obama, eulogized those lost in South Carolina by explaining to ungraceful me the meaning of the word and where it comes from. That it’s not something we learn, or inherit, but that it’s something that God bestows upon us and we all have it. We just have to embrace it.
According to the Christian tradition, grace is not earned. Grace is not merited. It’s not something we deserve. Rather, grace is the free and benevolent favor of God.
“Oh happy day,” saith I! I have grace. And, you know, I actually can feel it. Seriously I can.
Then he sang it. Watch it here. If you can, watch his entire eulogy. Finally he emerges and leads. No anger. Clear. Hopeful. Forceful. He has Grace. Always has. And, he might just have saved a wretch like me.
It’s over. Thank God. It’s the second Father’s Day without my dad, but this one was awful. Not that I spent many Father’s Days with my dad, or even sent a gift. It was a phone call holiday and often rushed. But with everyone posting this and that about their fabulous fathers, I felt lost.
So here it is. A day late, and for sure a dollar short, because I never said anything kind to
Through my podcast, Screen Thoughts, in which Emily O’Toole and I (using the alias, Justine Hollister) talk about all things on the screen, I was invited to a rough cut screening of Return to Normandy, a short film about Colonel John J. Wessmiller’s return to Normandy, more than seventy years after he landed there on D-Day. You all remember D-Day—we learned about it in high school. We learned the date when it took place, that
There are those that travel parallel roads to ours that show us another way – a singular lifetime dedication toward helping others. Kayla Mueller was one of those people. When I read her letter to her family, I realized I’d heard the sentiment before. Anne Frank wrote much of the same.
“In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation
I really like Brian Williams. He’s very cute. His daughter, Allison, reminds me of my fabulous daughter about whom I’m not allowed to blog. He’s very funny. I especially like him on David Lettermen. The two of them combined are like what you want your dad to be. When I heard last week about his demise – his fall from grace surrounding his exaggeration of his exposure to danger in the middle east – I
January 27, 2015. Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
NSTARIMG_2694 (Click to watch the video of my posse.)
I’m a smart girl. I live on Cape Cod mostly, and when a snowstorm comes in, I can pretty much count on no electricity … sometimes for days. I’m also a glass-half-full girl, but in this case, the water in the glass freezes fast and I’m stuck, so I hedge my bets. I found out that the NStar guys (those
Hello loyal Freesia Lane followers….
It’s me, terrified Christine.
I love movies. I love t.v. (or some of it), and I have really smart friends. One friend, in particular, is an award-winning documentarian, and she and I get going on movies and t.v. and the end game is me leaving with my head spinning. I love it.
Long story short, when we were at dinner with a third friend (yes, I do have more than
I was sitting at Starbucks, biding my time waiting to pick up a friend to drive back to the Hamptons from New York City. A man and his ten-year-old son came in. The son was eye-catching, with large, inquisitive eyes and a big smile, and he was asking his father a lot of questions.
“Dad, if you wake up on a sleepover date and they say they are having eggs and toast for breakfast, and
I am not a God Girl by nature. Oh, don’t get me wrong: I have turned to God when planes are bouncing in the air — air that has no business carrying them — and as many others do, I have that conversation in my mind about what I am willing to do if God just gets me to the ground safely. So far, he’s kept his end of the bargain. And me? I have
I have a really smart friend who we shall call Rebecca. She and I attend film festivals together, meet monthly to discuss films, writing, T.V. and life. She is way smarter than me, but I’m pretty sure she tolerates me because of my sharp tongue and quick wit. Anyway, I texted her as soon as I left The Judge last weekend and told her it was one of the best films of the year and