Thursday, August 4, 2022



I apologize for the sideways view of the photo of Kim. I cannot get it to right itself. -Linda Lee Greene

WHAT A FRIEND I HAD IN KIM … “Although I am a typical loner in daily life, my consciousness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty, and justice has preserved me from feeling isolated.” –Albert Einstein

            In the above statement, Einstein could have been speaking for me as well as for himself. He could also have been speaking for my friend Kim Mutch Emerson. My friendship with Kim began ten years ago when, by way of a referral from a mutual contact, I hired Kim to act as the publicist for GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS, my first novel as a standalone author. In her typical way, Kim took me under her wing and taught me all I was capable of retaining at the time about book marketing as an independently published author. It was hard going at first because I balked against promoting myself in such a way. “But Kim, I’m no good at talking about myself,” I whined to her. “Well, girlfriend, if you want to get anyplace in this business, you have to get over that particular fear,” she replied. She steered me to Facebook, showed me how to create a page as well as how to use the social media site. She was my first Facebook friend and encouraged her Facebook friends to take me in as part of their circle.

            Kim was a self-described empath. Chiefly used in science-fiction stories, an empath is described as a person with the paranormal ability to comprehend the mental or emotional state of another individual. ‘Paranormal’ is explained as something beyond the scope of normal scientific understanding. But it isn’t beyond the scope of my understanding, nor was it beyond Kim’s understanding. In addition, the word ‘comprehend’ as used in this definition of an ‘empath’ relegates it to an activity of the brain, of thinking, and it comes across to me as inadequate. I have no doubt that Kim would agree with me that to be an empath involves the heart as well as the brain, a heart that allows one to ‘feel’ the mental and emotional state of another individual, and even of a collective of human beings, and even of the world. Kim was a deeply religious person while still wrestling publicly and privately with the alarming state of the world—and now that she has taken on the mantle of pure spirit, I believe she has embarked on the next way, the best way for her to help in the effort to lead humanity out of its current version of the Dark Ages and back into the light of truth, beauty, and justice once more?© -Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist


#KimMutchEmerson, #DigitusRising    

Thursday, July 28, 2022




 From Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist

 I, Edward Lively, arrived at the pearly gates of heaven and once I got over my shock at being admitted, I noticed that the gates really are pearly. An unseen force then eased me into a crowd of people/spirits that was filing into an enormous amphitheater. There was available standing room only space and even the sky all about was alive with the fluttering wings of beings whom I concluded were angels. Six chairs placed in a semi-circle, a baby grand piano, and a set of drums that faced a raised lectern were at the center of the amphitheater. “We were concerned you wouldn’t make it in time for the concert,” a soft voice sounded in my right ear. “Well, what could be nicer than being greeted in heaven by a concert?” I responded. I then stood in rapt attention at the unfolding scene.

            The musicians took to the stage one by one, led to my utter astonishment by a suntanned and relaxed figure whom I swore was Moses bearing a trumpet in his left hand. A bent over figure hoisting a gleaming tenor saxophone nearly his equal in size, and his long, white beard brushing his sternum came next. “It’s Galileo. He’s better than John Coltrane on any given day,” the friendly voice told me. A tiny shape swathed all in white from head to toe was the third to take a seat. Thunderous applause erupted upon her appearance, and she waved a flute in the air in acknowledgement of the love that surged through the space. “Is it Mother Teresa?” I asked my guide. “You got that right,” my guide replied. None other than Carl Sagan followed in Mother Teresa’s hoary wake, his bulky cello tucked under his right arm. Her violin and bow held in her right hand, a delicate woman seemed to float to her chair. The voice explained, “Elizabeth still loves her couch and we have to work overtime to get her off it at times like this.” “Elizabeth?” I asked. “The poet and hymnist Elizabeth Barrett Browning,” the voice said. Near the end of the line, an able-bodied Stephen Hawking trod blithely to the seat at the drum set. “No doubt you don’t recognize him, but the next musician is Saint John of the Cross wielding his clarinet. He makes it sing like a bird,” the voice informed me. “And hold on to your hat because you won’t believe the eighth member of this band.” And to my absolute amazement, Sigmund Freud strutted onto the stage and lowered to the bench before the baby grand. Only the conductor of this ensemble was yet to appear. “That’s Albert Einstein!” I blurted as the fuzzy-haired character with his signature mustache took his place at the lectern. “Good guess, but you’re not quite right. Actually, it’s God,” the voice countered. “Hey! I know my Einstein when I see him,” I shot back. My guide merely smiled and then left me to join a nearby group of people/spirits.

            “What kind of music can this divergent group pull off?” I thought to myself. “It’s impossible for the God-minded and the science-minded to work together in such a way.” As if to validate my skepticism, the musicians gave forth on their instruments in a random series of discordant squawks and squeaks, of heavy-handed plucks of strings and keys, and Hawking’s crashing drum beats that reverberated through me and nearly knocked me over. Einstein/God then tapped his baton on the edge of the lectern, raised his right hand and pointed his baton to Freud at the piano. With the index finger of his right hand, Freud struck a luminous ivory and all the other instruments keyed-up in pitch-perfect harmony with the ringing note. Einstein/God lowered his arm, and the instruments grew silent. A toothy smile beneath his bushy mustache, Einstein/God turned to the audience. Humor spilled from his beady eyes, eyes that seemed to focus like a laser on me. “Our first selection is an original composition by our illustrious Beethoven put together at the last minute especially for the delayed arrival of our new friend, Edward Lively,” Einstein/God announced. He then pointed his baton straight at me. Chills surged through me, and suddenly and thereafter, I was swept away in the most glorious music I had ever heard.

            I was to learn that there was no magical formula to this amazing display of cooperation—of commonality. The ensemble of earth’s former intelligentsia had not discovered an elusive connective tissue between the two camps that allowed the God-theory and science-theory to mix compatibly. It turned out that a ticket to heaven depended on their coming to the realization that there was nothing to gain in holding fast to their attitudes of division. Their differences set aside, they went about demonstrating their change of heart.

At first, they thought that co-authoring a heavenly book comprised of illumination stories was the answer. They handed it off to Moses, well, because he is Moses, to write the first chapter. It came back written in parables, as people of his time are wont to do. The counsel had the regrettable duty of explaining to Moses that parables were the Rubik’s Cube of tongue-speak to modern-day inhabitants of the universe. Sagan then insisted that it be non-fiction in its entirety. In the end, the idea defied consensus and was scrapped. Maybe painting a picture on a giant canvas would do the trick? they conjectured. Rumor has it that Picasso cornered the Saint and Hawking and convinced them that it had to be in the style of his famous ‘Guernica’. That went over with the others like a meteor plummeting through space. They saw their chance to advocate for a folksier style like the work of Normal Rockwell. That idea went the way of the heavenly book, which left the do-gooders confounded, to say the least. At this point, Mozart decided he had no other choice than to offer his own insight into the situation. “How about giving music a try?” he suggested. Miracle of miracles, the participants discovered within themselves latent musicians chomping at the bit to come out and play. Presently the music they made together was so beautifully harmonious that it proved to be their most attainable pathway to peace on earth and throughout the whole of the universe.©


Image: Chorus Line, acrylic painting by Linda Lee Greene

#Moses, #Galileo, #MotherTeresa, #CarlSagan, #ElizabethBarrettBrowning, #StephenHawking, #SaintJohnOfTheCross, #SigmundFreud, #AlbertEinstein, #Beethoven, #Mozart, #Heaven, #Music, #LindaLeeGreene


In multi-award-winning author Linda Lee Greene’s GARDEN OF THE SPIRITS OF THE POTS, Nicholas Plato flees his troubles in the USA and forges a new life in Australia. But his troubles hitch a ride right alongside him and forces in the land Downunder bring him face to face with them and eventually reveal to him his true purpose in life.

GARDEN OF THE SPIRITS OF THE POTS is available in eBook and/or paperback. Just click the following blue link and it will take you straight to the page on Amazon on which you can purchase the book. 

Tuesday, July 26, 2022



Individuals who tend toward a bit of too much melancholy during tough times would do well to read the following essay by my friend Emma Lane, an author, artist, and master gardener who writes under more than one nom de plume (keep reading). But then again, Emma’s upbeat outlook is honey to the soul of anyone who dips into it…Linda Lee Greene


From Emma Lane - Shifting with the world in rapid change can be a headache for sure. We humans are comfortable with everything when it stays the same, even if sometimes it ought to be different. Yes, the pandemic was scary. That was and is a bad thing. Most of us lined up for the vaccinations and felt thankful there was some protection. I admit I fell in love with the masks and haven’t had a bad cold or any upper respiratory infection since I started wearing one out in public. That’s a good thing. I may be clutching one of my trusty masks for a long time to come. It’s just too easy a protection to ignore. I know some folks don’t feel that way and that’s their right, but for me and my house, we mask.

On the other hand, I’m connected to a family plant nursery. During the pandemic, a renewed interest in farming, house plants, and gardening surged to the top of the hobby list. We were amazed how fast our plants were scuttling out the doors of the greenhouses with folks snatching and grabbing for more.

We planned an anniversary festival with artists and authors setting up for interest. So plants, paintings, and books—what could be more interesting than that! It was a success and so fun. What is the bad news?

Supplies are precious. We may not have enough pots to present our plants this season. We are scrambling and repainting and reusing old ones we can find. Other perennials are presenting in one too big or too small. We must use ingenuity, creativity, and sheer determination to have a successful season. Big supply boats are stuck in canals and such. Nothing we can do except encourage US businesses to pay attention and invent a new factory or two. I shudder to think we must go back to the ‘dig your own.’

My bad news on a personal level was the fall I took tripping over my easel. (Another fun hobby during the pandemic.) No, my nose isn’t broken, but you aren’t allowed to laugh when you see me.

The good news? Oh, it’s the very best. I have a Cozy Mystery release that debuted in the latter part of April. Ta Da! Check out the pretty greenhouse on the front cover of Murder by Proxy, the fifth of the Detective Kevin Fowler Cozy Mysteries. That’s a clue, by the way. An attitude of thankfulness goes a long way to reconciling the not so good.

           Happy reading and happy gardening as we flex with the good and bend with the bad taken in perspective. If you’re looking for me, you know where to find me. I’ll be repotting succulents in Greenhouse 3.



 A blizzard blows in big-city crimes which spill into the peaceful small town of Hubbard, New York, catching the attention of Detective Kevin Fowler and staff. What unusual acts engage the Secret Service with the local cops? A young man is found badly beaten in the heated greenhouse of the Young Family Plant Nursery. Early spring melt reveals a sinister vehicle with a deadly cargo, even as the master of the greenhouse welcomes part-time alumni.

            Romance swirls, tumbles, and produces surprising changes among the group of friends at Buddy and Rita’s diner. Beverly hires a young, ambitious reporter to work at the growing newspaper and starts a new adventure of her own, while Kevin watches over the townspeople of Hubbard. The mystery of a toxic skunk is finally routed by troublesome out-of-towners. An unexpected wedding shocks everyone but the Young Family. Spring has arrived and May is in full bloom in the Western New York small-town Americana, as another beautiful bride walks toward the flower-laded bower under the approving eyes of a group of fond friends.



Emma Lane is a gifted author who writes cozy mysteries as Janis Lane, Regency as Emma Lane, and spice as Sunny Lane. She lives in Western New York where winter is snowy, spring arrives with rave reviews, summer days are long and velvet, and fall leaves are riotous in color. At long last she enjoys the perfect bow window for her desk where she is treated to a year-round panoramic view of nature. Her computer opens up a fourth fascinating window to the world. Her patient husband is always available to help with a plot twist and encourages Emma to never quit. Her day job is working with flowers at Herbtique and Plant Nursery, the nursery she and her son own.

            Look for information about writing and plants on Emma’s new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face. Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to check out the things that make Emma smile on Pinterest.

Wednesday, July 20, 2022




 From Linda Lee Greene, Author/Artist

 Kay, my lovely physical therapist, received me most graciously on my first appointment, and then she led me to a private consultation room. One of those perpetually youthful, mature women, she also appeared as fragile as a feather, better suited to ballet than physical therapy. But appearances can be deceiving, as I was soon to find out. Following the question and answer session, she instructed me to lie down on her little couch, and then she went to work scrutinizing my body. It was then that I got the strong feeling that Kay is living her calling. Her immense strength and wisdom is in her hands. Her hands tell her things about her patients that go unrecognized by some medical professionals. For instance, mere moments into her exploration of my body, she said to me, “You are very strong, Linda. Did you grow up on a farm?”

            “No,” I replied. And then I thought to myself, “Does she feel my history, my ancestry in my body?” I recalled then Carl Jung’s theory of the collective consciousness, which suggests that our experiences/knowledge/wisdom are inherited. Scientific experiments have revealed this phenomenon to be possible, and that the information is stored in the form of nucleic acid codes within cells. There is speculation (some call it evidence) that certain sensitive-types can tap into this pool of material, person to person. Maybe Kay is one of those sensitive-types.         

            Of course, while I technically did not grow up on a farm, I was born on my maternal grandparent’s farm, spent the first two years of my life there and was a frequent visitor during the rest of my childhood and into my adolescence and far beyond. While I have always been aware that I carry my farmer ancestors in my heart and mind, I didn’t understand until Kay’s inquiry the extent to which I also carry them in my body—how they are etched in me, blood, muscle, sinew, and bone. Further into the hands-on examination, Kay found and then probed certain hot spots on my body and proclaimed, “Ouch, that hurts!” Here I was trying to be all stoic and brave, and she voiced my pain. You have to appreciate a person like that.

This set my mind awhirl about Kay’s story, as well. Maybe I’m reading too much into her, but I’m wondering if she is a bonafide medical intuitive, like Caroline Myss. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Kay sees into my soul and knows how unmindful I am of my body most of the time. I bet she sees so clearly the love affair I have with my brain with its sparks of spirit that set it on fire so often. My brain keeps me company. It comforts me. It talks to me like a best friend, whereas my body delights in jabbing me at every turn with aches and pains and has been relentless in that pursuit since I was sixteen. No wonder I turn away from it whenever possible and romance my brain.

However (there is always a however), it has come to pass that for my own good, this love/hate affair cannot go on any longer. For inspiration, I tune my ear to Buddhist psychological teachings—voices that instruct me about a spiritual view of the body. They say the body “is the soil in which understanding grows.” Zen teacher, Norman Fischer in his SAILING HOME, attests further that “the body calms and grounds the mind and heart, and a stable mind and heart produce wisdom and happiness”

The Zen route to this grounding of the body is through sitting meditation, a process in which all else falls away but the body/present. There is no running away from this body/present, which Zen pronounces as one’s true self. There is no escape into the nostalgia of the past or flights of fancy into an impossible-to-know-future, for the reason that the body, which is the container of the mind and heart, exists exclusively in the here and now.

By way of Kay’s instructions in therapeutic exercises and meditation on the here and now, I have high hopes of easing into a healthier relationship with my body with its own brand of magical hands that are at the ready in the formidable gene pool of my ancestors.©



Every Thursday morning through hot June and July, I have and will continue to trudge along to my physical therapy session. It is hard work and afterwards, I have been tempted to reward myself with a stop at Dairy Queen for a hot fudge sundae. However, I have come up with a better, healthier treat in the form of a refreshingly simple, cold soup sitting elegantly on a shelf in my refrigerator. It has been referred to as a smoothie masquerading as a soup. I like to think of as a soup topped off with sweet toppings such as sugar-free whipped cream, sugar-free vanilla custard, low-fat vanilla yogurt and the like. I often swirl in a scoop of Slimfast’s Rich Chocolate Royale Powder.  


The recipe for 6 servings of COLD STRAWBERRY AND YOGURT SOUP:

. 1 pound fresh strawberries or 3 packages (10 oz. size) of thawed frozen strawberries in syrup

. 1-1/4 cups vanilla yogurt, divided

. 3 tablespoons confectioners' sugar or equivalent amount of stevia sweetener

. 2 tablespoons orange juice concentrate

. 1/8 teaspoon almond or vanilla extract, or 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice

In a food processor, combine the strawberries, 1 cup yogurt, confectioners' sugar or stevia, orange juice concentrate and extract; cover and process until blended. Garnish each serving with a dollop of remaining yogurt or other toppings.


Multi-award-winning author Linda Lee Greene’s GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS, which is a blend of historical fiction and memoir of her ancestors, receives rave reviews:

5 stars Wonderfully Written!

“This was a thoroughly enjoyable book. I loved the Americana. [It] reached out and touched my heart, mind and soul. [It] provided tremendous insight into what many American families endured during the first half of the 20th century. It captures you and draws you in. This is most certainly a five-star novel.”

GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS is available in eBook and/or paperback. Just click the following link/URL and it will take you straight to the page on Amazon on which you can purchase it.

Purchase link:

#PhysicalTherapy, #CarlJung, #CollectiveConsciousness, #ZenBuddhism, #MedicalIntuitive, #CarolineMyss, #Americana, #20thCentury, #DairyQueen #Slimfast, #ColdSoup, #GuardiansandOtherAngels, #LindaLeeGreene

Thursday, July 14, 2022




 From Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist

I am free and white and educated. I am retired from a long and satisfying career as an artist and a designer. I get to spend the bulk of my time writing. It is a dream come true. I own my own home, mortgage-free, and when I look out the windows of my condo, I am fortunate to see lush, old-growth trees, rolling green lawns, and the welcoming doorways of friendly neighbors who watch out for me as I do for them. Although I have to keep an eye on my budget, I am able to treat myself with this and that now and then. I am a born contemplative. I am a truth-seeker.

I am also spoiled!

I am spoiled, because when I am exhausted, I get to stretch out on my lovely, soft bed or my luxurious chaise longue and go to sleep, or point the remote to my smart TV, and chill-out to Robert Redford’s Sundance Kid or Pierce Brosnan’s 007, or an array of other yummy male specimens of movie-world. But I am not so spoiled that I am blind to my privileges.

I am not so spoiled that I am blind to how I lucky I am that I live in the peaceful Midwest USA rather than in the Donbas region of Ukraine, that place where not a soul has the luxury of chilling out from the exhaustion of his/her war-torn days and nights. I am not so spoiled that I forget that I was born at a time when prisoners in Nazi concentration camps in areas of Europe got an immediate bullet to the head or a noose around the neck at the slightest falter in their step or swing of their pickax during their grueling, crushing workdays. I am not so spoiled that I am blind to the fact that authoritarianism is still alive and well in places over there and is rattling the gate to my peaceable kingdom here at this very moment. I am not so spoiled that I do not fret over the harsh double-standard that suffers the disadvantaged in every part of the world from time immemorial to this day.

“Linda, if you aren’t careful, you’ll make yourself sick taking on the worries of the world. After all, you are only human and there is only so much we humans can do,” I hear from the peanut gallery. It is as if being human is the convenient off-ramp on the highway to paradise, or is the excuse for plucking only the low-hanging fruit rather than reaching for the stars. Don’t get me wrong, I have had an on and off relationship with the “only human” mindset during large swaths of my life, including too often right now, to my chagrin. I find nothing pretty and nothing redeeming in it, but it is a hard one to shake. It is so hard to shake, because I am surrounded by it, swallowed up in it. Because it is the prevailing mindset of human society, escaping it is like swimming against a tidal wave.

The way I see it, species: Homo sapiens had best hurry up and evolve beyond such widespread mediocrity. We cannot go on authorizing the rightness of humans remaining stuck in a condition of “average Janes and Joes”. I am not indicting the whole human race. Throughout the ages and to this day shining examples of highly-evolved human beings trod the Earth, and maybe in other galaxies, for all we know at this time. The present-day, prominent model who comes to mind is Volodymyr Zelenskyy, Ukraine’s leader. And people of his kind are scattered everywhere, famous as well as every-day people away from the limelight, some of whom might not know who they are until and unless they put themselves on the line, or are forced through circumstances to step up to it. My point is that there aren’t enough of such individuals yet among the population to lead the laggers into their personal power—and for that reason, a critical mass of us must find and then nurture our inborn magnificence, our God-given magnificence if you like, and join the ranks of people like Zelenskyy in godly causes the world over. I use the word “magnificence” in its 14th century origin, which is defined as: “great-mindedness”, “courageous”, “greatness”, “nobility”. For only our magnificence will save us.©


Image: “MAGNIFICENT HUMANITY” – collage of charcoal drawing overlaid with paper and fabric elements by Linda Lee Greene


#Nazi, #ConcentrationCamps, #DonbasRegion, #Authoritarianism, #VolodymyrZelenskyy, #Ukraine, #LindaLeeGreene, #GardenOfTheSpiritsOfThePots



In multi-award-winning author Linda Lee Greene’s GARDEN OF THE SPIRITS OF THE POTS, Nicholas Plato flees his troubles in the USA and forges a new life in Australia. But his troubles hitch a ride right alongside him, and forces in the land Downunder bring him face to face with them and eventually reveal to him his true purpose in life.

GARDEN OF THE SPIRITS OF THE POTS is available in eBook and/or paperback. Just click the following blue link and it will take you straight to the page on Amazon on which you can purchase the book. 

Sunday, July 10, 2022



New Zealand born and Australia resident, acclaimed author Vonnie Hughes gives us a taste of her new novel A TOUCH OF TREASON. Keep reading for an overview of the novel to tease lovers of Regency stories.


Helena Marshfield is in hiding. Once the indulged daughter of a baronet, she is now governess/companion to a businessman’s daughters. Her family has been in disgrace since her father’s very public suicide. What if someone discovers she has another secret to hide, that her father had promised her to the revolting Lord Elverton as payment for a wager?

Ivor Stafford struggles to free himself from the mountain of debt his father left. Hiding his problems from the not-so Polite World, he takes solace in his membership of the committee formed by the Horse Guards to investigate how Peninsular campaign secrets are being spilled to the French. Also on the committee is Josh Yardley, Helena’s employer.

When Ivor and Helena meet, an unwilling but intense attraction has them both wishing…what if? But when Elverton discovers where Helena is living, she is in great peril. What price duty now, Helena and Ivor?


Vonnie Hughes is a multi-published author in both Regency books and contemporary suspense. She loves the intricacies of the social rules of the Regency period and the far-ranging consequences of the Napoleonic Code. And with suspense she has free rein to explore forensic matters and the strong convolutions of the human mind. Like many writers, some days she hates the whole process, but somehow she just cannot let it go.

Vonnie was born in New Zealand, but she and her husband now live happily in Australia. If you visit Hamilton Gardens in New Zealand be sure to stroll through the Japanese Garden. There is a bronze plaque engraved with a haiku describing the peacefulness of that environment. The poem was written by Vonnie.

All of Vonnie’s books are available on The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.

Learn more about Vonnie Hughes on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Goodreads.


Wednesday, June 29, 2022



From Linda Lee Greene, Author/Artist

It is impossible for me to assemble the ingredients and make sense of them that my mother died thirty years ago. How have I managed to get through those years without her? Somehow, and despite my many blunders and scrapes and chronic anxiety, I have trudged along—bruised and scarred and startled. It is said that forbearance (defined as patient self-control, restraint, and tolerance) is the greatest of all spiritual qualities, and without it no other spiritual quality is worth a damn. I bagged tolerance early on, but patient self-control and restraint had a long long wait: they finally showed up alongside my first Social Security check…and then only because I was so worn out by the incessant “stitching and unstitching” that I just gave up—or gave in.


Maybe giving up or giving in is the “yellow brick road” to any spiritual quality. Our stewing minds and churning stomachs and fluttering hearts don’t get us there very often or very well. My mother looked for them in her Bible. I really don’t know if she found them there. There was plenty of time to talk with her about such things in the six months between her terminal diagnosis and her passing. But we didn’t talk about them. It was ground too scary to tread, at least for me, because to do so would have naturally slipped into a revelation of her feelings, and mine, regarding her imminent death. “Death” was a word she and I did not utter.


I am pretty sure my mother believed in the concept of an afterlife following the demise of the body. The thing I do not know and regret not knowing is if she found courage and comfort in the belief during her final days.


I hope not to leave my loved ones with such questions and regrets about me. But with death at my door, I might indulge my consciousness in denial and refuse to talk about death at all. I might soothe my consciousness in beautiful memories of life instead of speculations about afterlife. Maybe that was my mother’s way of dealing with her end days. And why should she not have pacified herself with the known rather than with the unknown? Another idea about my mother occurs to me. Is it possible that she had attained the spiritual quality of forbearance in its full bloom and thereby needed little to nothing more? That notion comforts me.


My questions remain and probably always will remain, so my alternative is to turn to things I do know about my mother. In that vein, I am prompted by Deepak Chopra in his “THE BOOK OF SECRETS” to acknowledge the five qualities for which my mother would most like to be remembered. While others who knew and loved her might submit additional responses, with the greatest love, appreciation, and admiration of her, my reply is that she was a good daughter; a good wife; a good mother. She was her children’s best friend. She was a good caretaker of her earthly home.©


#DeathandDying, #SpiritualQualities, #DeepakChopra, #TheBookofSecrets, #GuardiansandOtherAngels, #CradleoftheSerpent, #AChanceattheMoon, #GardenoftheSpiritsofthePots. #AuthorLindaLeeGreene