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Posts Tagged ‘children’

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That’s not his name but that’s what he represents. This is one of my littlest cousins, Aiden. His favorite color is red … or at least it used to be. He wrote me a letter (with some loving assistance) asking me about my favorite color. I wrote him back and told him orange … or at least it used to be. When I watch, read and listen to the news, because I have to do that, it can be quite dispiriting to think about the future. But then I can think of this little person with his hands clasped, ready to take on the world. With loving assistance …

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art by jordan

art by jordan

What brightens a long day? Arriving home to a big envelope. At first, I was thinking , “Oh, heck. What could this be?” I flip over the envelope and see the magic words. “Love Jordan.” My nephew and in the kids postcard club. He’s not even half a dozen years old yet though he almost looks like he’s twelve. I exaggerate only a bit. I’m not sure if he’s ready for a stationery kit like Maya but I told his parents to let him know that since he sent me a beautiful flower I am planning to send him a hummingbird (postcard).

More about this photo in a future post. Take care. 😉

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While babysitting for a friend. The light shining through mom’s shawl onto her sleeping daughter’s hand. The newest member in a family of artists. A lovely calming sight in a chaotic world. 😉

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Growing up in Virginia, my parents made clear quite often that “times are tight.”  Many a fellow classmate wore more expensive clothes but mine were just as clean and it didn’t matter that they were purchased via layaway.  And my brothers and I still share stories of how well my mother could stretch a can of Campbells soup.  But it wasn’t until I was accepted into college, completing financial aid forms and trying to figure out how my family’s income fit on various grids … that’s when one day I looked across the table at my parents and said, “Did you know we’re classified as poor?”  That I did not feel poor despite my family having little money says a lot about my parents and the neighborhood in which I walked.

Virginia Dogwood

It is a very different neighborhood in which the little girl Dasani lives.  It is a Brooklyn neighborhood in transition.  Thanks to the New York Times series, Invisible Child, readers can journey with her through that changing world.  You the reader can walk with her, run, kick, and dance.  You can even hear her voice and those of the people around her because it is a multimedia presentation with short videos at the end of each of the five parts.  It is a series provoking a lot of conversation, dialogue, debate … and hopefully, most importantly, some good actions.  It can sometimes be tough to read and to watch but I hope people do.

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In little creatures new to the world like my cousin Aiden, photographed here by his mama and wrapped in a blanket made by his aunt.

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Jordan Playing in the Leaves, photo by Dad

Jordan Playing in the Leaves

My brother is not off the hook for his guest post about music and mountains, but I must admit that this photo he did share of his son at play in a field of leaves was quite an autumn treat.  A 3-year old the size of a 5-year old with big brown eyes filled with wonder at the world.  My brother wrote that it is an image that makes him want to sit and write “about the joy and emotions of Fall and Winter.”  I hope he does put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and that Jordan keeps playing in the leaves. 😉

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As spring draws to a conclusion, the last of my dandelions have fallen apart helped by a sudden gust of wind from an open window.  I wonder what the summer will blow my way.  Meanwhile here’s a gallery of the dandelion images.  FYI, the folks at Talking Writing Magazine paired some of the images with an essay by Fran Cronin about a mother letting her daughter go as She’s Leaving Home for college.  An excellent read.  Check it out.  Meanwhile have a good Thursday!

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Art by Jordan S.

Art by Jordan S. (3 years old)

I’m a lucky person.  Adults tell me stories.  Children like to give me art.  Or sell it to me for good causes.  I don’t only accept the art to make the child feel good.  I accept the art because it is unpretentious and celebrates a freedom of expression.  The child artists in this post are between the ages of three and ten years old, live in different parts of the country and do not know each other.  They are different ethnicities.  Some are related by blood, and others I’ve come to know through friends.  I encourage them to send (or sell) me more images.  Maybe one day they’ll send me their words.  😉

Art by Arwyn L., signed artwork sold to help her grandfather who has MS

Art by Arwyn L., signed artwork sold to help her grandfather who has MS

Art by Rokell S.

Art by Rokell S. (10 years old)

Art by Maya S.

Art by Maya S. (4 years old)

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I had picked the two dandelions while walking home in the rain.  The seed heads were wet but still intact.  They looked like rain-soaked baby chicks, all spiky and glistening.  I remember my goal that day was to get the stems home and photograph them before they fell apart.  A piece of black slate formed the background.  I’ve yet to sort through the photos.  I was surprised to see the next day that the seed heads had not disintegrated but had in fact puffed up.

When I showed them to a small friend, who’s big into science these days, I started to describe the dandelion anatomy.  But when I tried to talk about the seeds and the “parachutes” that allow them to sail across the sky, my little friend became quite adamant.  “No, no, no,” she said. “These are fairies and the white, wispy parts are their wings.”  We stared at each other for a while and then I said, “Well, my dear, let’s go set some fairies free then.”  She cupped the dandelions in her hands and we went in search of an open window.

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A few days ago when my five-year old friend came to visit, she asked, “Can we go see the butterflies?” Up the spiral staircase we went to the sunlit nook where the butterflies reside. Though we have seen these fancy flyers since she was tiny (as she describes her younger self), my little friend asked in a serious voice, “Cynthia, why do you have butterflies hanging from your ceiling?”

I responded with the answer she well knows which is, “A friend gave them to me years ago.  I like how the sun shines on and through their wings.”

She spun the mobile with her finger.  “I like that too.  It’s like having the inside outside, isn’t it?”  And what else could I say except, “Yep.”

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