My life adventure began at Olmsted Memorial, on the corner of Vermont and Fountain Avenues, City of the Angels, USA.
Olmsted Memorial names itself after Fredrick Laws Olmstead, a nineteenth century gentleman who helped create marvelous places, like central park in New York City. Mr. Olmsted insisted parks and gardens were important for everyone, not just the wealthy. I like to think this was part of my personal map of service. As if Mr. Olmstead’s ideal was one of the keys to my own mission on earth.
My feet were inked, in order to leave a mark on my first identity papers, then I was wrapped in pink and delivered to a room where a tiny dancer, head turned to the wall, was not at all pleased to receive me.
Every time someone congratulated her about my arrival in the world, she felt as if they were twisting a blade stuck in the kind of wound that is raw, open and unseen.
She insisted I was not welcome.
Once she’d said it loud and clear three times all the angels began to sing a welcome song and The Holy One announced the curly haired, blue eyed bundle wrapped in pink had been planned for, hoped for, was and always will be loved. It was made clear all over the heavens that I belonged to God.
Adding This to Mama Kat's Collection
(her pretty much world famous writer's workshop)