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Valentines For Ever’one . . .
‘Til ever’ name is called . . . Can we make valentines, he asked? The younger looked as if he was torn by a big decision. Why make them, I asked? ‘Cause there are lots I know and they be real from me, he said. How real I asked and he looked at me…
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It Is Hard Being Human. . . but a privilege. . . . .
Love her, she is ours. . . . I am grateful for my readers who follow my work though they may not agree and sometimes not understand what I talk about. I overheard one talking to my son and he said he…
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The Heart Knows Its Own Amen. . . .
Oftentimes I have written about the cosmic importance of families and homes and many take this as opposition to the seeming greater importance of worldly concerns. The reality lists toward the impossible harnessing of worldly affairs by adults with hungers left unfed as children when they could have been directed toward good, toward universal…
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Only Said A Hat Was Required!!!. . . .
It didn’t say exactly what kind was the implied accusation! And I laughed out loud to the silence surrounding and know that the great grandfather on the other side of the veil was harrumphing that she is another like you with no fashion sense! And I said to Emma E. more like me, please love,…
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Coming To The Sainted Day of Heart. . . .
They are such simple words but for some people to say the words will cost them dearly they think. And yet to another, their lives hang precariously they know if they don’t hear the words soon. When one speaks from one’s heart, the Other intuitively must answer from one’s own, or not answer at…
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Choice Goods Are The Children. . . .
I was asked by a grandchild when I would start talking about how I write. It was important that people understood the connection between worlds and they the youngest ones came with more open heads. The first work was almost 5 years ago and I will reprint some. Because my readers now are familiar with…
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You Laid Your Heart On Me. . . .
There are more than a hundred of us who share in what I call the ‘jenny genes.’ I am neither boasting nor complaining because we all share faults as well as some victories, though the latter have come with a price paid dearly. And the faults have had a dear price also. One of…
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good and faithful servant, Thou Art. . . .
The Roses Are For You. . . It was a new friend Jan who remarked that she knew I didn’t know we were different. And I remember feeling hurt that again I was on the outside looking in and now my children were also outside the circle. But as she continued to be my friend…
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Who First Told Us?. . . .
It was my favorite holiday of gratitude. Family friends were visiting so on the day we were seated at the linen covered table with an extension to accommodate everyone. The children this year wanted to be at the same table. Close elbow to elbow for this gala occasion. Excitement was high as the turkey…
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As It Was. . . .
Paraphrasing the Teacher in a journal entry of a December past. . . . ‘She quietly opens the door and slips to the crib, not knowing the child’s father has already retired for the night in the room. She watches the child in sickness and the son watches his mother with her magic chants as…