Tag Archives: children

The Boundless Spirit

Each day is a little life: every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every going to rest and sleep a little death. ~ Arthur Schopenhauer

Death does not come when the body is too exhausted to live. Death comes because the brilliance inside of us can only be contained for so long. We do not die. We pass on.

The vessel dies, but the Spirit lives on.

Our greatest human adventure is the evolution of consciousness. We are in this life to enlarge the soul, liberate the spirit, and light up the brain. The next greatest adventure is death. Death is the natural progression of the human spirit. Not the end, but a new beginning in a realm we cannot fathom.

The human body has limitations. The human spirit is boundless.

We fear death so profoundly, not because it means the end of our body, but because it means the end of our consciousness as we know it.

A couple of weeks ago, my father’s spirit passed on into its next adventure. A few days ago my granddaughter’s spirit entered a body that took its first breath and cried its first cry. She began her evolution of consciousness. Into her father’s hands, she felt her first touch, opened her eyes and saw her mother’s face.

When you have lost people like I lost my birth mom at a young age and you remember the whole process of losing her, you want to grab on to something that makes you whole.

My children and career have given me that sense of wholeness, and my husband compliments that. Watching the grandchildren enter this world, looking down at them looking up at me, gives me a sense of continuity that I do not believe I would have achieved had I decided to remain childless.

The God of our understanding has entrusted us to participate in the enlargement of her soul, liberation of her spirit, and the lighting up of her brain. For that and all things, I am grateful.

baby Kira birth pictures 050315 064

Lightning Crashes~ Live

Lightning crashes, a new mother cries
Her placenta falls to the floor
The angel opens her eyes; the confusion sets in
before the doctor can even close the door
Lightning crashes, an old mother dies
Her intentions fall to the floor
The angel closes her eyes;
the confusion that was hers
belongs now to the baby down the hall
Oh now feel it coming back again
like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it
Lightning crashes, a new mother cries
This moment she’s been waiting for
The angel opens her eyes –
pale blue coloured iris – presents the circle
and puts the glory out to hide, hide
Oh now feel it coming back again
like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it – I can feel it
I can feel it coming back again
like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it
I can feel it coming back again
like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it
I can feel it coming back again
like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it – I can feel it – I can feel it

Embarrassing the Children


So many of my childhood memories were unpleasant ones, so today I want to tell you some of those funnier and scarier memories of raising my own children.  I couldn’t do the Community Storyboard prompt this week because I wanted to focus more on the positives than the negatives so, this is my chance to totally embarrass my grown children.

My oldest and I grew up together.  I was fifteen when I became pregnant and barely sixteen when he was born.  He is now thirty six.  We even like the same music.  I remember his childhood like it was yesterday.  He had a fascination with the orifices of his body, namely his nostrils and ears.

One day, when he was about two years old, he was helping me plant nasturtium seeds.  They are rather large seeds, about the size of a pea.  Several days later, he was having trouble breathing.  Thinking this was asthma, I rushed in to the hospital.  A little while later, the doctor emerged with a few plants on a napkin.  The seeds had germinated in his head and had actually started to grow tiny leaflets and roots. Some of the roots were quite long. The doctor had removed the plants with a basket extractor.  His breathing suddenly improved.  My son also stuffed English peas into his ears and had me believing he had some horrible green discharge oozing from infected ears, when in reality, it was only peas.

Direct sowing Nasturtium seeds in the garden

On another occasion, he came walking out of the bathroom one night.  He was so proud that he had reached the age of four and could attend to his nighttime ritual without much in the way of assistance.  On this night though, yellow paste dripped from his lips and he was complaining about the new toothpaste.  He had brushed his teeth with Preparation H.  Poor little thing, with his puckered lips and a horrible taste in his mouth, was quite in shock.  It took a few rinses with fresh tasting mouthwash to resolve that problem.

prep H

As an older child, it was his job to wash the pots and pans after dinner.  Once, while I was away at class, he proceeded to bury the entire lot in the back yard with a shovel to keep from washing them.  The trouble he went through to avoid that chore was amazing.  It would have been so much easier to just wash them, but not in his eyes.


My daughter and I had a different relationship.  She was headstrong and stubborn, even at two years of age.  Once she was on the deck and took off running from me.  I didn’t want her to topple off the deck and get mortally wounded, so I tried to be patient with her. I could see that she had something black in her mouth and it appeared to have legs.  Yes!  It was a live cricket, and there was no getting it away from her.  She clamped down on it and swallowed it before I could get it out of her mouth, pure protein, I suppose.

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As she grew older, her stubborn streak grew with her, but so did her level of activity.  We bought a trampoline, hoping the kids would jump out some of their energy, and she loved it.  She also had a habit of straining her ankles and wrists.  After about four $75.00 trips to the E.R. for x-rays, only to discover these were strains, and sprains, and not breaks, I decided to give it a rest.  Then one evening, she came in from the trampoline at about age eight yo.  She complained that her wrist and arm were hurt.  Determined not to spend another 4-6 hours in the E.R. for a strain, I packed her in ice and put her to bed.  The next morning, in pain, she awoke with her arm swollen twice its normal size.  I felt like dirt, a nurse, and the worst mother alive.  It was indeed broken!


My youngest, another boy, was such a good baby, I thought nothing could go wrong, and I was much older at his birth, twenty-five.  The kids had a swing set and he had climbed to its top where the monkey bars were at about the age of three.  He fell, right before my eyes, and tore the back of his leg on a protruding screw.  With the calm and composure of a CCU Nurse, I wrapped the leg in a pressure dressing and took him 20 miles away to the hospital for stitches.  He never cried a tear, not one.  They papoosed him in a cocoon to keep him immobilized, but he never even said, “Ouch,” while they stitched him up with 12 sutures.


As I grew older and matured, the antics were farther and fewer between.  There were five years between each of my children.  I don’t recommend anyone starting as early as I did.  There used to be a joke about being barefoot and pregnant in GA, and I did grow up with my kids.  On the plus side, I could still demonstrate cartwheels, backbend flips, and hoola-hoops to them.  Something I could not have done later.  Now they are raising families of their own.  Fancy that!

Me upside down on hand rings when I was actually young and nimble enough to perform such a stunt.
Me upside down on hand rings when I was actually young and nimble enough to perform such a stunt.

Have you got any funny or frightening stories with your children, or yourself as a child, that you would like to share?  Go ahead!  Make my day.  I need a good laugh!

Childhood Innocence and Ovid’s Myth

I found this picture over the weekend.  It was from when I was innocent enough to believe that black people were black because they had been struck by lightning.  You will have to read the book to get the rest of that story, or at least this old post.  There is such a purity in not knowing.  I don’t have but a couple of pictures of me as a child because foster care wasn’t conducive to keeping up with those and most of my siblings and cousins got what few my grandparents had in their possession.

Susan at six 007

This one is from 1966.  It was before the first real tragedy in my life, when innocence was the essence in the eyes that had cried few real tears.

I was babysitting this weekend and it occurred to me that children are so very innocent.  They only know what they learn as they grow, and each is influenced by their own little world that expands as they mature.  Though not a perfect love, I am reminded of Ovid’s Myth…parental artists, we are, that we could mold them and shape them into perfection, but that doesn’t happen, and it shouldn’t.…reality is that they are formed by their own uniqueness and their own experiences.  They are a gift to us that we give back to the world one day.tumblr_lxpnwvgxVY1rn9t9qo1_r1_500

There are so many avenues for advice these days with access to the internet, other media, and all of the Mommy Blogs.  All we can truly do is to try to teach them sound values and morals, give them something to believe in, and trust that they will find their way.

Interracial Relations, “Trendy?”

The 50th Anniversary of MLK’s march on Washington reminds us of the great strides we have made in overcoming the racial prejudice that existed during the era when the political machine took on a whole new color.

If you click on the image of Martin Luther King, Jr. you will see a video from “Rolling Stone”.  The following link tells the stories of people who lived through the transitions of the era.  Their stories should not be forgotten.


The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom or “The Great March on Washington“, as styled in a sound recording released after the event, was one of the largest political rallies for human rights in United States history and called for civil and economic rights for African Americans. It took place in Washington, D.C., on Wednesday, August 28, 1963. Martin Luther King, Jr., standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial, delivered his historic “I Have a Dream” speech advocating that racial harmony should prevail upon the march. (Wikipedia)

The march was organized by a group of civil rights, labor, and religious organizations, under the theme “jobs, and freedom”. Estimates of the number of participants varied from 200,000 to 300,000. Observers estimated that 75–80% of the marchers were black.

Racism results from oppression, poverty and ignorance.  These three things are the greatest influences on society’s reluctance and inability to become more than tolerant, but to embrace and accept the changing tide in this country.

I have been reading many articles and blogs on the issues of racism over the past few days, and what I am seeing is that interracial relations are currently considered, “Trendy.”  My daughter, who has racially mixed children, agrees.  I can only pray that it is much more permanent than trendy.

My granddaughter has the Hispanic phenotype of her father, a Puerto Rican.  My grandson has the Arian phenotype of his mother, a German/English/Cherokee.  The Puerto Ricans are a mix of Spanish, African-American, and Island Indians.  They are a mixed race family and not unlike many families in the Orlando area.   My daughter feels that, while we are far from “post racial”, we are moving closer toward an accepting society where race is less of an issue than it was 50 years ago, but her life experiences with these children let her know that we are not there yet.

She has had people ask her if she was babysitting.  She has had people ask her if she adopted, and to go so far as to congratulate her on adopting, “Typically less than adoptable children.”  She has had day care staff members assume that she was picking up a child other than her own daughter simply because she is white and her daughter is not, asking her for I.D. to prove she is the parent of the child.

The Trayvon Martin-Mark Zimmerman case reminds us that there is much progress to be made if we are to truly see people and not color.  I am hopeful that we can get there soon.

“Red Clay and Roses” speaks to the issue of racism as it was fifty years ago, and to the issue of Civil Rights and Women’s Rights.  It is fiction based on the true stories of those who lived during the era and faced the challenges of it directly.  It is an historical reminder why we should strive for acceptance and assure that we never go back to where we were fifty years ago.  These are issues worth remembering.