Month: November 2024

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The Edge of Childhood

Erica from Arkansas is our host today for the fifth and final day of the November Open Write at www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write story-poems that span from childhood to adulthood and hover on the brink.

She urges us to “record imagery that comes to mind when you think of that childhood experience.  I encourage you to focus on concrete sensory details, but if you have to pull from memory or make something up that’s fine too.”

Earlier this week, we wrote 4×4 poems, featuring 4 stanzas with 4 syllables on 4 lines with a refrain. Today, I’m trying a 5×5 with those same parameters, but without a refrain.

Chasing the Future at the Kitchen Sink

overnight, he’d grown

a foot, it seemed – so

when I saw him ride

his bicycle by

the kitchen window

as I washed dishes

it brought to mind a

huge bear riding a

motorcycle in

a 3-ring circus

his back slumped over

the seat, head looming

over handlebars

ankles spinning wheels

in a duck-paddle

my mother-heart froze

in that moment, a

vivid photograph

etched in memory,

forever preserved

today, his own 5

grow a foot each day

too fast – much too fast

new generations

chasing the future

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November 19: Always Looking for the Next Book

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Book Fever Haiku

The Serviceberry

by Robin Wall Kimmerer

releases today ~

her first book, Braiding

Sweetgrass, was a game changer

I’ll savor the next!

I’m hoping the electronic copy of her new book is accessible early today. I’ll download it and read it on the plane to NCTE. It’ll be an inspiring read, and one I’m looking forward to diving into. Braiding Sweetgrass created a seismic shift in my thinking of the differences between cost, value, and worth and the provisioning cycles of nature. I see the life of a tree in a wooden table, and I honor the life of the tree. I feel immense gratitude for the gifts of nature ~ the earth’s gifts ~ that sustain us as we live and eat. The Native Americans have long had it right. This is all one big web, an interconnected planet with water, air, fish, animals, plants, and more ~ and each strand of it is dependent upon the other. If ever there is a time for emphasis on preserving land and the cleanness of earth and her oceans and streams, it is now. Our future generations depend upon it.

Today is Day 4 of the November Open Write, and Emily from Maine inspires us to write poems about the best and worst of ourselves using acrostics and reminding readers we are still who we are. Come join us! As always, please enjoy reading the poems at http://www.ethicalela.com by clicking on the November Open Write link.

Knowing Kim

At my best, I’m 

Kindle-reading with dogs piled in my lap by the fire on the farm 

Inspired by writing and all things hygge 

Making a travel itinerary and looking forward to coming home

At my worst, I’m  

Karaoke singing 

In trouble again 

Making a mess 

But I’m always Kim. 

If you have any book recommendations for my book club, please share them in the comments. We are searching for a great December read – quite possibly a Christmas classic. What do you recommend?

Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers at Slice of Life
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November Open Write Day 3 of 5

Denise Neal, principal at Our Lady of the Way RC School in Belize, is our host day for the Open Write at www.ethicalela. She inspires us to write poems today by offering this prompt:

“Think about your educational journey. In Aristotle’s words, ‘ The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.’ Because we all have different experiences, our stories will be a collage of joy, success, pain, sacrifice, opportunities, and commitment.  I encourage you to write in 4 lines and have a minimum of five stanzas.

However, you are also welcome to write freely to TELL your STORY.”

I thought of Denise’s words and all the things about my educational journey that really mattered ~ and still do.

What Matters

not the classrooms

not the worksheets

not the crayons

but the experiencing

not the posters

not the desks

not the chalkboards

but the reading

not the papers

not the assignments

not the projects

but the thinking

not the textbooks

not the answers

not the solutions

but the writing

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NCTE 4 x 4: The November Open Write, Day 2 of 5

Stacey L. Joy of California is our host today for the second day of the November Open Write at www.ethicalela.com.

She inspires us to write 4×4 poems as we think about the world today. Looming in technicolor living on my horizon this week is the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Convention in Boston, which begins Thursday and lasts through the weekend. Ada Limon, our US Poet Laureate, will be speaking on Sunday, and many others will be speaking throughout the convention – Kate McKinnon and Bryan Stephenson to name a couple. As I think about the world today, NCTE is what is foremost on my mind. There’s a different air there – where I breathe best around readers and writers, where something I can’t detect seems to flood my veins and bring joy. And to top it all off, I’ll be joining meet-ups with many of my writing group friends from Slice of Life and Ethicalela in person, even presenting with one of the groups on one of our books that just launched in September. If you’re at NCTE this year, you can find me in Room 210A of the Boston Convention Center on Thursday, November 21 at 11:30.

Hope to see you there!

A 4 x 4 poem structure follows these four rules:

  • 4 syllables in each line
  • 4 lines in each stanza
  • 4 stanzas
  • Refrain repeated four times in lines 1, 2, 3, 4 of stanzas 1, 2, 3, 4. 

NCTE

where shall we go?

NCTE!

where will it be?

Massachusetts

where can we breathe?

NCTE!

what do we need?

NCTE!

who will we see?

Ada Limon!

where will she speak?

NCTE!

where would we dwell?

NCTE!

who steals our hearts?

NCTE!

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November Open Write Day 1: An Invitation

Today, I’m your host at http://www.ethicalela.com to kick off the November Open Write. Please come join me at that site to share your own poem and to read the poems of others!

On the last day of October’s Open Write, I shared this poem:

An Invitation

save the date: November 16

you may choose to arrive by stretch limousine

we’ll be gathering in style for a writer’s retreat

whether castle or cabin or on your own street

we’ll spend the day writing in fantasy places

day one: a packing list poem ~ what’s in our suitcases?

so gather your words ~ select them with flair

I’ll be the door greeter to welcome you there!

you’ll need your location and writing utensil

something to wear, and perhaps a spare pencil

we’ll all need a critter (think Hogwarts style)

and a snack to share to write all the while

and then let’s bring one thing – a gift for the group

something to make us all laugh, cry, or hoot

what’ll it be? oh, I can’t wait to see ~

here’s a basket of tickets – take some – they’re free!

let’s keep Donnetta’s theme words sparking and growing

return in November, keep writing ongoing!

I offered a glimpse of today’s prompt, encouraging writers to think of a fantasy writing retreat and these aspects: location, clothing, writing utensil, critter, snacks, and a gift for others.

Today, I offer this poem to inspire others to write poems about a fantasy writing retreat. Come join us, and share yours on the ethicalela website!

Location: I’m arriving by Oz-graced Yellow Brick Road

to this heavy oak castle door with just an armload

Clothes: wearing overalls under my farm-writing cape

this magical cloak of virtual escape

with shimmery amber-hued dragonfly wings

and chicken foot bracelets and beetle leg rings

just a suitcase, you see, for this week here together

with all of my writing pals ~ birds of a feather

Utensil: and speaking of feathers, I’ve brought my quill pen

plucked from the wing of a feisty owl hen

Snacks: I’ve sugar-spun cauldrony crinkles for snacks

shaved off curled spikes from chameleons’ backs

Critter Companion: made easier by Razor, my pink crocodile

I walk on a bling-leash, in true Funny Farm style

Group Gift: and one more thing: I bring a group gift ~

truth glasses for all, to see things others miss

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Preparing for #NCTE2024

I haven’t packed yet,

but Saturday: my suitcase

comes down from upstairs

If you’ll be in Boston for NCTE next week, I can’t wait to meet you in person! I’ll be there, presenting on Thursday morning with my Ethicalela writing group on our book Words That Mend: The Transformative Power of Writing Poetry for Students, Teachers, and Community Wellbeing (Seela, 2024). Today, I’m sharing a QR code for a free download of this book, which is also available (for print costs only) on Amazon – along with several other books as well. Our group wanted to make this resource affordable for teachers everywhere. If you’re a member of Ethicalela or Slice of Life, I can’t wait to see you at the breakfast and drink gatherings for those group members. Even if you aren’t a member of those groups, next week is a perfect time to come along and write with us. We can’t wait to see you!

Also, I’ll be hosting at http://www.ethicalela.com tomorrow for the first day of the November Open Write. Join us as we venture to virtual writing retreat castles….and cabins….and imaginary places as we bring a magical experience to settings of wonder and sparkle that won’t exist until you bring them to life tomorrow morning. See you there!

  

Complimentary Books – Just for You! Free Download!
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Sister Shubert’s Sunday Morning Cinnamon Rolls and So Many Shares of Shiba Inu

ding!

oven

timer and

Robinhood App

alert that sweetness

is done with its baking

that a good day is ahead

rising like the index and yeast

in family-fragranced indulgence

My sister-in-law shared Sister Shubert’s Cinnamon Rolls with me as a freezer staple to keep on hand for Saturday and Sunday breakfasts. We were visiting about a month ago when I bit into the best cinnamon roll ever, and she clued me in to her well-kept secret, hidden in the spare freezer. I bought a tray on a recent grocery excursion, and Sunday was the day. Cinnamon Roll Sunday here on the Johnson Funny Farm, and the mouth-watering wafting smell tells the story. We savor each bite, reflecting on the week.

The past week has been full of group texts with my children, who love to compete with stock purchases. Each tries to outdo the other, and they get into hilarious bragging fights over how they might buy a daily dipper, then watch a swiftly recovering penny stock make a few dollars in a week. They give me sage financial advice so much that about a year ago, I started listening to them and their crypto currency wars and decided to riskily invest about $20 in Shiba Inu. With that twenty dollar bill, I received over one million shares, since each share’s value is about 0.000019.

What I have discovered is that being a Shiba shareholder gives me the excuse to buy dinner without any lip from anyone at the table. When someone tries to throw down a napkin and argue as I pick up the bill, I simply pull them aside and whisper, “Sorry, but I can’t let you do that when I’m sitting on over a million shares of Shiba Inu.”

Enough said.

I’ve bought and sold that same $20 worth of stock a couple of times over the past year as its value has fallen and risen like fresh-baked cinnamon rolls, and it has honestly been the most fun I’ve had ever breaking even with anything and enjoying the inexpensive entertainment of banter and bickering, and being able to talk about it like it’s some “big” thing.

So I’m considering adding another $10 worth of shares to get up to 2 million now that the fever is raging.

Over a year, it might buy a tray of Sister Shubert’s Sunday Cinnamon rolls (or their lemon blueberry rolls, which my brother likes even better) if I play my cards just right!

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Gladys Taber and November

Indian Pudding

a new recipe to try

for Thanksgiving Day

My father, an avid book collector, introduced me to Gladys Taber’s writing years ago, and I fell in love with her instantly. He has always had the uncanny knack of matchmaking book lovers with books that become favorites.

Sometimes I like to go to my collection on the shelf of my reading room and pull a Taber book and read random passages. Many of her books are organized by month or season, so I find that no matter where I land in her seasonal offerings that mirror mine on our farm in Georgia, I am there – right there with her – in Southbury, Connecticut.

From Still Cove Journal: November

“November is a month when the chill blustery days and long cold nights are hard on dieters. Green salads are fine on hot summer days. but the very sound of the wind from the Atlantic against the big window makes me think of a real breakfast of sausage and buttermilk pancakes with first-run golden maple syrup. By suppertime I forget I am a non-dessert eater, and when I go out to eat, I often order Indian Pudding. I have had many very fine puddings, but almost never an authentic Indian Pudding. So I like to share the recipe my mother and grandmother used:

Bring 4 cups of milk to a boil in the top of a double boiler. Gently stir in 1/3 c. yellow cornmeal and cook 15 minutes. Add 1 cup dark molasses and remove from heat. Add 1/4 c. butter, a teaspoon each of salt, cinnamon, and ginger and 1/2 c. seedless raisins. Place the batter in a greased baking dish. Then pour 1 cup cold milk over it. Bake in a slow oven for 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Serve with hard sauce or cream or even vanilla ice cream.

The main thing about the real Indian pudding is the cup of cold milk poured over…..”

I’ve never made Indian pudding, but it sounds divine. I’m making a shopping list now to try it, perhaps for our Thanksgiving lunch at the office a week from Tuesday. There’s something magical about an old recipe that seems to conjure up the spirits of those long dead and welcome them back to the present. If we ever do discover time travel, I’m fully convinced that the portal will be through an old recipe box, long forgotten, hidden in the corner of an attic, and one that comes alive like Frosty the Snowman’s magical hat.

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A Christmas Carol at the Alliance Theater: Still, Still, Still

A quartet of carolers opens the play with Still, Still, Still

We didn’t come straight home from Halloween festivities and put up our Christmas tree (it still isn’t up), but we have officially begun preparing our hearts for the Christmas season ahead. It began two weekends ago when we took our grandson Aidan to see The Nativity Tour at The Biblical History Center in Lagrange, Georgia. When it comes to Christmas, I do love the charged energy of cold weather, the laughter of shoppers, the gatherings with food and fellowship, and the lights. But Christmas, for me, lives in the quiet moments of deep thought and reflection – about ordinary things and how they connect to a greater concept.

The first reminders of the season came as we stood outside a sheepfold with our firstborn grandson, now a few months away from a driver’s license, learning about the likelihood that the manger may have been made of stone and the surrounding animals predominantly sheep. We discovered the reasons that a family in Biblical times may have turned away a woman expecting a baby for fear it would displace them if birth occurred and rendered their house unclean for 30 days. Having no room in the inn has been a frequent thought recently as I watch families unravel over candidates – brother against brother. Sadness, angst, grief over loss of relationships, and anger have all been the emotions of recent days. It’s hard to escape.

The second reminders of the season came as I watched my favorite Christmas book, A Christmas Carol, come to life on the stage. Is there any wonder that this particular adaptation of the play at this theater opens each year with a quartet of carolers singing Still, Still, Still? It prepares the minds and hearts of the audience to pay attention – to be still and watch for what is most important by looking in our own mirrors – to listen to the characters and the messages they bring. And yes, to sit right next to Charles Dickens himself, whose own story lurks in the shadows, and to wonder: what, dear friend, do I need to see in each of these characters and change in my own life as I seek joy this season?

Is there any greater time to hear this message than right now, today? It is the message of Christmas that beckons us to think not of our own rights and wishes, but the acts of service and giving to those around us to avoid those two hideous children, Ignorance and Want, who huddle under our cloaks. Children we try to hide, who are as clear and present as decaying front teeth behind a selfish smile. Is there any greater time to seek healing in our own hearts than Christmas?

Adults are often asked if we believe in Santa. Whether we do or don’t, the greater question, I think, is whether we believe in Scrooge. Somewhere in the quiet moments, I am reassured that even old Ebenezer himself, and even the Grinch, has hope – as do I, as does this nation. And this year, perhaps more than ever before, I welcome the ghosts to remind me to count my blessings.

Reminders: A Tricube

still, still, still

we listen

our hearts thaw

still, still still

quartet sings

voices lift

still, still, still

their words ring

all year long

Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers
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Kitchen Gods and Goddesses

J’s aunt Mabel said to bleach the lettuce

to kill the amoebas crawling around in it

but we never did ~ and still don’t

J sang every time she chopped anything

making up tunes and songs to narrate

dancing to whatever genre she picked

her knife blade a microphone to belt out

lyrics like a stage star with passion, bending

backward Bon Jovi style to spice our meal with musical strains

sung to the gods of the kitchen as if they couldn’t see

we’re choppin’ broc-co-li-i-i-i

yeah, we’re choppin’ broc-co-li-i-i-i

M sprinkled sugar in the tomato sauce to

bring out the flavor, stirring as it simmered

shimmering like blood bubbling in the skillet

the other M tore foil sheets for corn

another M talked our ears off with drama gossip

P galloped through the kitchen flashing us all

her boobs jiggling like peach Jell-O, giggled, trotted off

to the M&M candy jar for a handful while

the parrot greeted the cat that sauntered in: Hi, Russ,

shortening Russell’s name as we all did back then

while the forgotten bread always, always burned in the oven

as A stood undeterred slicing onions

wearing tinted kitchen goggles as the rest of us cried

in the days before hidden ear buds

before the games ever started