Butterflies kissed my face today
They flittered and they fluttered
all through my hair.
They whispered do not give up
you are loved, you are loved
we are here
to tell you, you are loved.
So many butterflies
surrounded my shoulders
I laughed and I smiled
as I danced
through the grass
with butterflies around my feet.
I felt like a child
no longer older
my spirit so light.
I stayed outside and played
watching my sweet
butterflies in flight.
Butterflies kissed my face today.
Art work by Michelle Marie
Perfectly awesome…
I love how Michelle Marie adds her sparkle to my pictures…
Gorgeous art from Michelle Marie
tearing down…
the walls
inside
letting go
of all my
pride
making
room for
the light
in a tender
spot
UNDER❤CONSTRUCTION
Many of you read my article about my daughter, Jodie Lynne, getting out of prison, The Big Picture, last week.
I said, “I am asking all of you who believe to pray for us. She is walking out the prison gates with nothing but the clothes on her back, a faith that God loves her, a belief that He will help her survive and a very strong desire to not return to prison.”
You responded with encouragement, support and promises of prayers…thank you so much.
I am thrilled to report that we got our miracle. One of many in Jodie’s Journey.
Her ex-husband, currently sober, has used his recovery connections to help her get into a recovery house for women. A very structured program designed to teach women to take responsibility for their own lives, while giving them a safe place to live. This is a big deal, definitely in the miracle category, because I have called recovery programs in the area and Jodie has already burned so many bridges that most of them wouldn’t even call me back.
When she is released, she will be taking a daylong bus ride back to Tulsa and as soon as she arrives, she will be going to the house for her interview. They have two openings and all she has to do is show up sober and say she is willing to follow the program’s rules. She will be accepted into the house that very night. She will not spend even one day or one night wandering the streets, looking for shelter.
She started crying when I told her. She had planned to leave prison with a list of shelters for the homeless and now she has a bed waiting for her.
If she wants to stay straight and stay out of jail, God has given her the opportunity. It won’t be easy, but it will be possible.
She has been calling me the last few weeks full of anxiety and nearly hysterical. I kept telling her that God had a place for her, we just didn’t know where it was yet and I believed that with all my heart, but nothing I could say calmed her down. I understood her fear, but this precious girl has helped me learn to trust God, so when I could tell her that I knew where her place was, my heart was overflowing with gratitude. I told her that I believed for her when she couldn’t and I reminded her that she has done the same for me.
Again, thank you for your encouragement, support and prayers,
Jeanne Marie
Hi! I haven’t been around my blog very much lately because I am in the middle of packing up my house in Florida and moving to New Hampshire.
Crazy as it sounds, I would rather be cold than hot and I am from New England.
I do have other reasons for moving. Still, I’m either insane or very brave considering the snow they had there last year.
So, the day that I close on my house in Florida is the same day that my daughter, Jodie Lynne, walks out of prison in Oklahoma.
I am asking all of you who believe to pray for us. She is walking out the prison gates with nothing but the clothes on her back, a faith that God loves her, a belief that He will help her survive and a very strong desire to not go back to prison.
I can’t go to Oklahoma on that day and I think God wants me to let her sort this one out because the timing means that I have to be here in Florida and not there with her.
Her dad and I have set aside some money so she can get an apartment, but not many landlords decide to rent to a felon, a felon without a job.
In spite of that, I am praying that God already has a safe place picked out for her. He can do that…I can’t.
Jodie and I are writing a book about how hard it is to make it and stay clean when you walk out of prison.
It’s almost impossible to start over when you have been stripped of everything but your life. Your children, dignity, self-worth, confidence and possessions, gone, and now you owe thousands and thousands of dollars in fines.
It used to be that you’d go to prison and work off your fines but now they not only add them on to your bill, they charge you for the services you require to stay free.
She has to pay to see her parole officer and she has to pay for frequent urine tests.
She owes $50,000 in child support and as soon as she gets a job they garnish her wages.
I will never defend the choices that landed my daughter in jail, but I will say this, people do horrendous things and walk away every day. All you need to walk away is money for a good lawyer.
She has no crimes against people, no violent offenses, just a bunch of petty crimes that added up to doing time as a habitual criminal.
Plus, Oklahoma has more women in prison than any other state and it’s not because they have the highest crime rate.
I make no excuses for my daughter, but as we have traveled the prison system together over the last eight years, I have realized that the women and girls who come out of prison are setup to fail.
I don’t know how anyone could come out owing about $70,000 and make it, excepting for a big miracle or a few medium size miracles.
My daughter is a beautiful woman, inside and out and when she is straight, she is my best friend in the world. When she is not straight, she is my biggest heartache.
I would like you to pray with me that she finds the strength and the courage to walk out of prison and stay sober, that she will find a job allowing her to pay her child support and fines, at least enough to stay out of jail. She doesn’t have a driver’s license because she owes child support, so her job options are very limited, confined to the area where she finds an apartment.
I never did understand how losing your license because you didn’t pay child support would help get child support from you. How do you get to work without a license?
And as for me, please pray that I stay strong as I pack about a hundred boxes, while trying to get rid of everything that I don’t care about because it costs too much to move it all and even some things I do care about.
I have to remember that in the big picture, possessions really don’t mean anything, people do.
I am moving for many complicated reasons, reasons that are far more important than fine china or knickknacks.
I care deeply about my writing, my books and my computers and even most of the books I own could go.
I’ve already gotten rid of hundreds of books and I pray for the strength and the stamina to make this move.
I am praying for the courage to allow my daughter to walk out of prison and stand on her own two feet.
My daughter and I are also writing about how going to prison damages the families of the prisoners, the parents and the grandparents, siblings and family members, anyone who loves them, moms who like me, never give up hoping and believing because they love their child.
Please pray that God and the angels cover our backs as we each struggle to do what needs to be done to change our lives for the better and please pray that we continue to move forward in faith despite the enormous odds that we have against us.
Amen and XO, Jeanne Marie
Thank you, Michelle Marie. I love this sweet present!
Visit https://thinkingpinkx2.wordpress.com/ for more PINK Thinking!
Meet me and Michelle Marie
under the pink tree
it is covered in buds and
bursting with pink blooms.
We can invite the Monarchs
and welcome the Bohemians
because as you can see
there is certainly enough room.
Everyone can laugh and play
in the shade of the pink tree
even sand cranes uninvited
who were welcomed anyway.
Fed them Cheerios and bugs
and then without a thank you
they up and wandered away.
Meet me and Michelle Marie
under the pink tree
we will watch as the buds open
catching pictures of pink flowers
just as soon as they bloom.
Meet me and Michelle Marie
under the pink tree
because as you can see
there is certainly enough room
for two or even thirty-three.
Many of you have read about my Dutchman’s Pipe plant and you have seen pictures of the incredible blooms on my Women Who Think Too Much blog. I have written about how hundreds of the caterpillars ate the entire plant the first spring and there was only one little string of plant left when they had finished nibbling. The caterpillars creeped me out at first, but then I took a closer look and I realized that they are amazing. Dark cocoa brown with little orange spikes and you can even see their tiny faces if you get close enough. The second year, I had hundreds of caterpillars again and I had to decide if I should spray the tree or let the butterflies live. If you know me, you know what I did. I let the caterpillars live on the vines and I took thousands of pictures… I planned to…
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Yes…
Jeanne Marie & MichelleMarie, thinkingpinkX2
Take refuge under a big PINK tree
WE will, whistle till our lips can no more
WE will, sing till we are hoarse
WE will, dance till we fall down
I AM SHE
There was a time when my mother was middle-aged and me?
I was young and naïve, not a care in the world
the arrogance of youth was on my side.
I was a footloose hippie girl and I thought love was free.
Her skin was firm and tanned, black waves of hair fell to her shoulders
softly surrounding her fair face, bosom quite generous,
legs as fine as any model, she was my mother,
but with flower child simplicity, I used to call her Grace.
She was spirited back then, although she seemed quite old to me,
and how did I become imprisoned while she has learned to fly–a butterfly set free?
Tonight, as I glance into the mirror, my middle-aged face stares back.
Have I become her, and she, the child I used to be?
At seventy-three she’s still a beauty, but time’s fire has burned its’ trail
and when she had a stroke last year,
I realized how deeply she had aged; yet, become so childlike, so frail.
My firm skin, my shapely legs, will soon bow down to time,
much as my bell-bottoms and tie-up tops gave way
to blue jeans and then on to stretch pants and a baggy tee.
I will lose this interval named youth and as I look into her face,
I see my future and
I am she.
by Jeanne Marie
My mom went to play with the angels in 2009.
I decided the best way for me to celebrate today is to share some of my mum’s writing. I used to write a newsletter and my mum contributed poems and articles on a regular basis. I love you, Mum, and I know that even though you are playing with the angels, you still watch over me. Love, Jeanne Marie
A NOTE FROM GRACE
When my children were growing up and got into their “teenage problem” years, I’d become exasperated with them. I’d think, “They’re just like their father!” Then, one day the light dawned on me, (Marblehead) because after taking a hard, honest look at myself, I realized; they were just like me. The me I had suppressed and hidden deep inside, where no one else could see. I was as wild and rebellious as they, but I had put up a shield of adult perfection, striving to become the perfect mother that everyone expected me to be. I have now learned that I need to let this child in me come out to play, or the adult becomes a cold hard shell. I must confess, now that I’m older, I have to do this through my books and old TV movies. My mind wants to run through fields of flowers with all my clothes flung aside, but my body slows me down to a stroll through Wal-mart, wrapped in warm sweaters.
RANDOM THOUGHTS from Grace Christine
Life has taught me an important lesson. “Put your money where your mouth is.” I brag to everyone about my clever daughter and her newsletter. Her beautiful public letters to me fill me with pride. Sometimes they make me cry to see the love flowing between us, and it makes me feel so undeserving because I only did what any mother would do…I loved my daughter. I remember how I tried to convince my jealous husband (jealous even of his own children) that “Love shared is never divided, it is multiplied.” My love was multiplied by him, and my four beautiful children, not divided amongst them. The years have shown me the strength in my children, and while I may not like everything they do, I love them and respect their right to be themselves. They have taken some of what I taught them and rejected what they found didn’t fit into each of their life styles; but, the base of our relationships have always been that I love them…unconditionally. So, Jeanne Marie, enclosed is my donation for stamps, and although I love my gift subscription, I want to contribute to WWTTM. Love, Mom
Thanks Mom, and by the way, I’ve met far too many mothers who don’t love their children unconditionally, so take credit for the gifts you have given me. You do deserve it! Love, JM
MY MUM WAS A TOUGH OLD BIRD BY Grace Christine
My mother had a quick wit and she always had a snappy come back. One day at the doctor’s office she complained about an ingrown toenail. The doctor had started to perform the minor surgery when the nurse asked, “Aren’t you going to freeze her toe before you cut?” “No,” said the doctor, with a grin on his face, “she’s a TOB.” Turning to Mum, he asked, “Do you know what that means?” Mum snapped back, “A tough old bird.” Then, she added, “You’re a DOLL. Do you know what that means?” The doctor reluctantly admitted that he didn’t know, so Mum gave him the answer. “A Stuffed Dummy.” Behind the doctor’s back, the nurse gave Mum a thumbs-up for putting the doctor in his place.
BALTIMORE STEW
From my mom, Grace Christine 1926-2009
I was born during the “Great Depression” in 1926. It was a sad and poor time for most of the people in our country. However; as a child, my world revolved around my parents and I was untouched by our country’s struggles.
My dad was a barber and my mother was a happy homemaker, in every sense of the word. My parents welcomed friends and relatives into our home, and fed the occasional strangers who knocked at our door, looking for a meal and a place to spend the night.
We had a small garden in the backyard which supplied the family with fresh vegetables all through the summer and enough preserves, jams and pickles to last the winter. The chairs around our table were never empty because my parents loved to invite people to share our meals, and I believe our company came for the generous measure of love and conversation that was dished out with the food.
Mum made cooking an easy chore and she always had a smile or a funny joke as she stirred her pots and pans. Her cakes and pies were rumored to have come straight from a heavenly source to our table. Saturday was the high spot of our week because it meant a trip to Boston for our weekly supply of meat and staples. My sister and I loved the little treasures Mum bought us, such as a pomegranate or an orange, and Dad’s favorite treat, chestnuts.
When I close my eyes, I can still see my mother at our kitchen window, and I can hear her saying, “Here comes Aunt Georgiana and the children. I’ll have to put more water in the stew and another potato in the pot. I should have made more pies!” (She might have had two apple pies cooling in the pantry, but she always wanted to have more than enough for everyone at the table.) Here’s Mum’s (Harriet/Great Nana) recipe for Baltimore Stew, our all time favorite!
Baltimore Stew
Put the following ingredients into a large, heavy pan.
Two pounds of stew meat, cut into small cubes.
Two pounds of fresh carrots, peeled and sliced one inch thick.
One small can of whole tomatoes. One large diced onion.
Two slices of fresh white bread, broken into pieces.
Three whole cloves. One teaspoon of salt. One-half teaspoon of pepper.
Cover with cold water and simmer for about three and a half hours.
Add one can of drained peas and simmer about thirty more minutes. Remove cloves.
Add two heaping tablespoons of regular tapioca.
Cook uncovered for fifteen more minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking.
Serve with mashed potatoes.
As Mum would say, “Eat hearty and enjoy! There’s plenty for all!”
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom
I recently published my book, Women Who Think Too Much. I held onto this manuscript for almost 20 years, afraid to be judged, because I bared my soul in those pages. I waited so long that someone else published a book with the same name.
My writer’s group encouraged me to edit and finish this book and they believed that my words had value. My editor and friend poured her heart and soul into this book, she fell in love with this book. Read every draft, every word, over and over and over.
My writing group believed that my words could touch and maybe help another person, and to my surprise, releasing my book released so many of my own pent up fears, that it helped me. After growing up with my promise/threat to publish WWTTM, my son just kept saying, “Publish the damn thing.”
I am out there now. ME, THE REAL…
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Grace Christine Doucette, October 12, 1926-July 27, 2009
Dear Jeanne Marie,
I’m dysfunctional? What’s that you say?
Well, I’ll deny it to my dying day.
I look at the world with rose-colored glasses,
It’s the men I find that make the wrong passes!
I’m so innocent, I believe all their lies
I think that’s true love deep in their eyes.
I see only what I want to be there
And accept love unafraid, not a care.
I function perfectly straight every day
And don’t allow reality to get in my way!
When I kiss my prince, he instantly
becomes a toad,
And I’m covered with warts,
alone on the road.
But I keep going, living my dreams,
Life just can’t be as bad as it seems!
Dysfunctional? Nope, not me!
I’m still waiting for my prince at seventy-three!
Guess Who? (Love, Mom)
THE FLAME
by Grace Christine
How many times must a heart break,
before it falls apart?
How many times can we sift the ashes
and force the flame to start?
In the pain of loving and dying each day,
the smallest flame can light our way,
And as crazy as it may seem to some;
it’s the hope of love that’s yet to come.
So we bind the fragments together with
glue, and place our faith and hope with You.
You alone, can see the other side of life,
You alone, know the purpose
of our heartache and strife.
ODE TO THE MAILMAN
by Grace Christine
You keep the mail flowing between
my daughter’s house and mine,
It’s worth the price, for this way we find
That loves keeps alive with each letter
So tell me, sir, what could be better?
Through snow, rain, sleet,
or hot humid day,
We know our thoughts are on their way.
You guard our hearts,
sealed in white paper
And we trust your devotion,
what could be safer?
I just wish I could squeeze me
tight inside,
I know I’d be safe
throughout the long ride.
And when she opened
my extra-large letter
I would pop out and hug her…
that would be better!
Love ya dear, Mom
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
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