It was late winter, not quite spring yet. Not wintery cold, but not springy warm. Just in-between. Gracie had hurt her foot, she had spent most of the day before sitting at the food bowl. I had only realized she was not well when I got home and saw her in almost the same place she had been when I had left for the day. I thought she was just being cute by sitting down in such easy reach of breakfast since they always stand to eat. I regretted being in too much of a hurry to really check on her.

But that in-between day, and for as many days as needed, I was going to stay home with her. She spent hours in my lap, snuggled up inside my soft warm cottony jacket. We would talk and look out over the garden. We would be silent together. Those are not easy days to write about because I was afraid I might lose her as we had lost Blanche.

I did not ask how her foot injury had happened. She may have landed poorly when practicing some new ballet choreography. (She would not have wanted me to think she was less than perfect as a dancer.) She may have jumped down from the roosting perch while it was still too dark for her to see clearly because she was eager to meet the new day. (She would not have wanted me to blame myself for being slow in getting up and going any earlier than I had.)

Sometimes it takes a mishap, an unexpected change in the routine, or an almost tragic event to cause us to appreciate what we have. In that uncertain time, Gracie and I stopped everything and focused on what really mattered.

“Do you know when I first had an idea you wanted to be a ballerina?”

“Was it when I stood on your shoes en pointe for the first time?”

“I remember that day so well. That was when you let everyone, not just me, know your dream was to be a ballerina. You must have been practicing that for days and days, and I imagine it took a great deal of courage to let everyone know your greatest heart’s desire.

“But I knew you loved to dance before then. Maybe before you even knew it yourself or knew the words ‘ballet’ and ‘ballerina.’ It was the day when I named you ‘Gracie,’ another day I will always remember.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“It was one morning when I saw you coming down the chicken ladder when you were still so young with hardly any comb or wattles. You pointed your toes so perfectly as you moved down the ladder. You spread out all of your fluff feathers like they were the finest tutu ever. You stretched out your neck and head, ready for whatever joys and triumphs…or sorrows…the day held for you. And if there were sorrows, you knew you could dance through them as effortlessly as you had glided down the chicken ladder.”

Gracie turned her head to look at their first original coop in the side yard. “I miss those days so much,” she said. “Things were different then.”

“But we are still the same, you and I. And you still come down the chicken ladder that way after you’ve laid an egg.”

“I do my best,” she said, looking up into my eyes.

“That was before I ever brought out my old record player so you girls would have music to use for practicing ballet. I went to every thrift store in this neighborhood and the next looking for old classical record albums. But you danced even before we had those records, and then afterwards, you and Bessie worked out a remarkable Chinese Dance from The Nutcracker Suite.”

“We made you play that song so many times, we thought it was going to wear out.”

“And if it had I would have found another and another still. But that moment when I saw you coming down the chicken ladder was special. It was when I knew you could hear The Music Of The Morning. It was music I could not hear with my ears. But you, Gracie, you could hear it with your heart, and your heart let out that music through the way you moved. And as I watched you moving so gracefully, I could hear the music with my heart too. And that is why I named you Gracie.”

“Will you still call me ‘Gracie’ even if I am not able to dance gracefully again, even if I am not able to dance at all ever again?”

“Gracie, don’t even think such a thing.”

“But it could happen that way. I may not heal properly.”

“You will always be ‘Gracie’ to me. That is your name. I will always be able to hear the music of your dance in my heart, even if you are never able to dance again.”

“I know. I just needed to hear you say it.” She paused as if relieved of a burden. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Gracie.”

“All I have ever wanted was to matter to someone. You gave me a name, a beautiful name, and every day you have let me know I matter. That is all I have ever wanted. What more could anyone ever want?”

I readjusted my jacket over her body and snuggled her closer to my chest. She looked out into the garden nodding her head gently from side to side, side to side, up, down, up, up, down. As I watched her, I could hear The Music Of The Garden, music only the two of us could hear. And so we sat together, mattering to each other, even if to no one else.

All I ever wanted was to matter to someone. What more could anyone ever want? – Gracie

19 thoughts on “How Gracie Got Her Name

    1. Thanks, Will. It seemed like a good thought to share with all of this social isolation because of the global health crisis. (Some people call me a “hermit” because I’m quite fine spending my free time by myself at home with my chickens! But I know that’s not the way it is for people like those who are elderly and live alone or are in nursing homes.) And yes, my girls are indeed quite remarkable! Thanks again!

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I loved this piece. Having been a dancer compromised by MS I found it particularly moving.” I will always be able to hear the music of your dance in my heart, even if you are never able to dance again.” Lovely.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you, Judi. I’m so glad that you found a special connection to that little story. Gracie was particularly empathetic, and I must admit I am as well. I am not able to draw on paper as I once had been, but for me it has been old age. Thankfully, I can use my iPad to compensate for that for the most part. I can close my eyes and imagine you and Gracie dancing together, and I appreciate all the more the gifts we have been given to us if only for a season.


    1. That is so sweet! Please let Tara know that Gracie healed up almost perfectly. Her middle toe I just a little crooked. I don’t think it will keep her from dancing, though we may need to adjust the choreography just a bit. Thanks again to you both!

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Renee, and I’m really glad you are enjoying the book and the illustrations! (I went through several complete versions with different illustration styles before deciding on the one I liked best.)

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thanks, Renee. There is a rather jarring and inconsistent chapter in the book titled “The Terrifying Chicken Freak Show” which needs major revision. I shared it on Saturday and removed the eBook from Amazon and Barnes & Noble on Sunday. I’m also offering personal refunds to anyone who finds it is too terrifying. It’s going to take some reworking, but the rework received much better comments. At the time, it seemed to be right, but when taken in context it really stands out as not fitting in with the whole mood of the book. Anyway, the offer still stands for a personal refund on this post


  2. Loved this! I know the word grace has many meanings but my mind will always go to the Koine Greek word “charis” and how it is an undeserved, unconditional love. Your story and the trust found in it (and throughout your other ones as well) frequently bring that to mind.

    Liked by 3 people

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