Born blonde and Polish, Jennifer Turner writes action adventure thrillers and romances. She resides in Wisconsin with her husband Eddie, a red-headed Texan, and her three children, Dustin, Molly and Matthew. Raised by an eclectic assortment of artists and musicians, her upbringing helped shape and hone her imagination and dedication to the romantic arts. Between her commitments to family and writing, she actively pursues three things–white chocolate, dark chocolate, and more chocolate.
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I've not been blogging for quite a while, I see. Sorry about that. Many of my readers know my mother died on June 24th. Because she passed so soon after my father (on Valentines Day) I've been an emotional wreck. My brother died in '95 and he was my only sibling, so pretty much my whole (childhood) family is gone now. This is a very strange feeling. The silver lining in my grief-cloud though, is I've re-established connections with my mom's siblings (2 aunts and an uncle) and my grandmother. I've always loved them, but now I get to tell them more often.
Today's blog is dedicated to my Mom. Below are two beautiful poems she wrote and above is a photograph of one of her many fabulous pieces of art. (If you click on the title of this blog post, you will go to her online diary.)
In the Instant of Dying I was born in the instant of dying. The wind came along and cut me loose.
In free-fall to the ground all the events of life are a ripple in the wind. I flutter here and there along my meandering course in the process of dying.
I flutter here and there with all the fluttering beings free-falling around me to the ground. Free-falling to the ground I turn this way and that and greet the brilliant multitude cluttering the sky.
The sky is God to me. The ground is God to me.
All else is falling and dying. In the instant of dying, I was born. Within that instant my life is lived between the Gods of Heaven and Earth. Beyond that instant, I am no more.
I Lay My Hand Upon The Soil I lay my hand upon the soil to dig And each day I lay my hand upon the soil anew And each night I seek to lay my head to rest
But my Lord calls me forth to dig in darkness And I come forth in my weariness and sorrow And lay my hand upon the soil to dig in darkness
And my Lord goes before me calling Tears of sorrow wet the earth Where I dig And shore the furrow In its depth
And my Lord calls me more to dig In weariness I crawl forth at His command And all down the row behind flowers bloom