Stranger Things

On the heels of a missing grill that vanished from an AirBNB while we were gone to a birthday party and an unexpected early-morning knock at the door that turned out to be a Northern Flicker attempting to demolish the cabin we were occupying for the weekend, I came home from Kentucky to three boxes on the porch – two of which were late Christmas presents arriving after the fact. The third presented yet another mystery in these days of stranger things. There was no gift card from the recipient enclosed.

I called my brother and sister in law, who said they didn’t send the art canvas of a red Japanese tree against the backdrop of snow-covered mountains looking like Fuji, with two black metal benches on each side. Nor did any of our children. I texted a friend in one of my writing circles who just got back from Tokyo and collects art. It wasn’t her, either. I sent a text out to the full family group with my husband holding the picture: Anyone know anything about this? it read.

The mysterious art canvas (Boo Radley’s feet far right corner)

I did a little research and learned that I may be the victim of a brushing scam, where people receive things they never ordered in the first place as freebies from companies seeking verified purchaser top review status. All evening, I watched videos of the random things people sometimes get. There is no risk for the victims, either, other than needing to change passwords frequently. These recipients of everyday’s-like-Christmas surprises just have to make extra trips to the dump or find ways of getting rid of whatever doesn’t fit into their lives until the packages stop arriving and the review scammers move on to other recipients. I reported the package to Amazon with the tracking number, and they replied that it would take ten days to do an investigation.

I can’t help considering the irony of this scam in light of all that has transpired this year. We started cleaning out our house and barn in 2024 when we started the journey of downsizing with the dream of building a smaller living space on the farm. In 2025, my brother, our spouses and I shared the task of cleaning out our Dad’s house and seven storage rooms. They were full of books, art, dishes, lamps, furniture, pretty much everything you can imagine, and other “rare collectibles” because Dad was a hoarder who could never get rid of anything. I looked at the canvas of the red Japanese tree and chuckled, wondering if somehow this is him pranking me beyond the grave, particularly as I have wept real tears over the harvesting of all the trees on Briar’s family farm since April. Surely this canvas carries some kind of message I haven’t figured out yet.

For now, I’ll sit tight and wonder, as all the other brushing scam victims do, what might arrive next. I’d love one of those shiny silver coffee makers that grind the beans and do all sorts of fancy brewing like cappuccinos and espressos and lattes. I’ll take a king-size Nectar adjustable bed, with two cool-temp pillows and a massage feature. The latest Apple Watch (I have never owned one) might be a nice surprise if I can figure out how to turn the notifications off, plus some good winter boots with arch support, maybe Aetrex brand, in black leather. Those are the things I’m hoping my brushers will send next – – and I’ll even write their glowing 5-star reviews myself in exchange for all the free stuff.

A Call To Action Haiku, Celebrating Surprise Photographic Art

brushing scam victims

unite with glowing reviews

for free merchandise

Here is my free review of this art canvas that I’m considering actually adding to Amazon:

This canvas is the perfect size print to go over a bed or to hang on a bland wall space. It’s guaranteed to bring both boldness of vibrant color and tranquility of empty bench solitude all at once as it reminds us that there is indeed sunlight just beyond each cloud in the sky. The mountain spirit is alive and well, beckoning our very souls to reach for new heights even as we keep our feet on the ground and our lives simple and rooted in nature. Art lovers looking for cryptic messages they can apply to their own lives will delight in the vibes and reminders that living things all bloom and thrive where they are planted and that to everything, there is a season. The tree reinforces the notion that no matter where we go, there we are, and that we should never, ever forget our lipstick. There is much to be seen from a distance that you cannot appreciate close up with your boots in the snow. It’s all a matter of perspective, we find, as we gaze into the possibility of each vantage point as we stand considering angles. Yes, in this print, we feel a deep sense of belonging. We are branches on the tree of all humanity, each of us one mere leaf, hanging in our own time and place in the history of generations who have come and gone before us, even as we consider the promise of future generations if the world does not end in an apocalyptic rapture at the touch of a button by some bratty lollipop-spoiled kid who grew up to be a tyrant with a tortured soul in North Korea – or anywhere, for that matter. And these emotions are just the tip of the ice-covered mountain for the depths of discovery in this one canvas that is the most unexpected kind money can buy without, you know, actually being there in person, which would cost way more. Get yours today, and you will never look back – – only inward and upward henceforth. (Brushing Scammers, thank you for this delightful gift).

Silas in One-derland


We’re in Kentucky celebrating our grandson’s first birthday. When my daughter was pregnant with him, she’d call to tell me how fast the bean was growing. Here we are, at a first birthday party after what seems like only a month since he arrived. Happy birthday, Silas! We love you so much!

Has it been one year

already since you were born?

Happy Birthday, Bean!

A Found Poem from the pages of Remain pages 126-7

Last night, I finished one of my most anticipated reads of 2025: Remain by Nicholas Sparks and M. Night Shyamalan. The collaboration of these two intrigued me before the story ever did. A romance writer and a supernatural suspense scriptwriter seemed like one of those high-end restaurant menu pairings where you get two unexpected items that blend in the most spectacular way. like how the first person to ever put cinnamon on sweet potatoes discovered. My head is still spinning, and I still have to sort out a few things about it – as I anticipated for the Shyamalan part – but once I get the ice on the sidewalk figured out, I will know whether it gets four stars or five.

For today, I am using two pages to create a Found poem from the words and phrases across an open book. I laid the book down and, like those little lights in the peripheral vision that Tate experienced in the story that led him, I looked for which words I felt would be illuminated on the pages and jotted them down. And I wonder with pages like these how many poems books hold and can spin, just waiting to be found.

Ordinary Pleasures

ordinary pleasures

tell a story

coffee shop chat

meet my eyes

laugh

a battered old piano

roll up your sleeves

beautiful spirit

shine through

tender moments reserved

making dinner together

taking dogs to the park

fill my cup

envision it

know your heart

find love

change your life forever

How it Stacks Up

When holidays roll around and family gathers, I always think about pancakes. My son loves to make them, and it’s probably due, in part, to our frequent trips to the IHOP to have breakfast on weekends when the kids were young. He likes the basic Aunt Jemima Buttermilk Complete, and he cooks them on the electric griddle just at the right temperature so that they turn out golden brown and as close to perfect as a pancake can get. I enjoy watching his intense focus on the process.

But when he isn’t here and I want pancakes, I get too lazy to make them. I don’t want to clean up the mess, so I start getting a hankering for pancakes on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve Pancake Dreams

I’m down for

one of those

specialty pancake houses

with a hundred tables

and thick-rimmed coffee mugs

where silverware clinks

and conversations turn to laughter

where waitresses run around in half-aprons

and sneakers with bobby socks

and have big hair

and the place is alive

with gourmet presentations

bananas flambe’ with burnished cool whip

blueberry apple compote crumble

caramel chocolate with toffee chips

peanut butter and jelly with potato chip sprinkles

peppermint mocha with candy cane dust

peach and apricot with brandy drizzle

and all those wild combinations

all that sounds delicious

but the reality is always the same ~

I’ll take three plain buttermilk cakes

Aunt Jemima style

a cup of black coffee

and a pot of warm syrup

because simple is best

Open Write Day 3 of 3 December 2025 with Gayle Sands of Maryland

Gayle Sands of Maryland is our host today for the third and final day of the January 2025 Open Write. She inspires us to write holiday versions of the viral I Am poem, a template for which you can find here. You can read her full prompt, mentor poem, and the poems of others here. There is a whole movement that emerged from this poem, and the I Am Project page can be found here.

Haynes Homestead Holidays

I am from the sequined felt stockings

of oranges, nuts, and candy cane dreams

From Life Savers Story Books that weren’t at all and a

red-headed Chrissy doll in an orange dress

but never that Lite Brite I wanted

I am from the Island Padre’s pastorium

under the Live Oaks with a round disc tree swing

the one with the brick fence

and a chalkboard in the back yard

for playing school with stolen chalk

I am from the daylilies no one ever saw

and the oleanders I feared would kill the dog

from the ever-blooming Christmas cactus

generations deep

until I killed it

I’m from Christmas Eve Candlelight Services

from singing Silent Night in a congregational circle

in the dark, cold churchyard

From Joneses and Hayneses

one side complete chaos, the other complete order

from junk drawers galore to every spare nail and screw in its place

I’m from the silver tinsel tree

with Sears Wishbook presents wrapped in Santa paper

and fruitcake cookies we pretended to like

from high noon resentment

and questions that weren’t meant that way

I’m from driftwood and oyster shell Nativity sets

from going with the flow to cloistered

I’m from deep South Georgia roots I’m glad I escaped

preferring mountains over islands and choices I never had

From Lowcountry boil with Old Bay on Christmas Day

From the preacher granddaddy taking candy from a lady

on Bourbon Street trying to pray with her

to the other granddaddy I caught nipping from the bottle in the garage

From the uncle drunk in a train wreck who lived to see jail

from seven storage rooms of too much stuff I never want to see again

.

………except maybe those cereal box California Raisins

the ones that stood proudly on Noah’s Ark

when the kids played Save the World, those raisins

that knew all along

they were going places

Open Write Day 2 of 3 December 2025 with Mona Becker of Maryland

Mona Becker of Maryland is our host for the second day of the Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. Today, she inspires us to write haiku poems. You can read her poems and those of others, along with the full prompt, here. If you have a few moments, write a poem and share it today!

Let Them

if I feel like it

I’ll bake cinnamon rolls for

Christmas Day breakfast

if I feel like it

I’ll shop for a few presents

and maybe wrap them

if I feel like it

I’ll plug in the Christmas tree

lights for the others

if I feel like it

I’ll make the happy happen

or maybe I won’t

maybe I just won’t

maybe I’ll go see movies,

have dinner with friends

maybe I’ll read books

sit around doing nothing

and let someone else

maybe I’ll make these, maybe not

Lights Reflecting Hope


this morning, cloistered

in the silence of what used

to be sheltered woods



dogs still sound asleep

I rise and the wood floor creaks

I wrap, tie my robe


take my medicine

my toes find my snuggly Uggs

on my way to the


best part of the day ~

writing by Christmas tree lights

faint glow of the screen


illuminating

syllables, finger-tapping

meaning from chaos


deep-breathing morning’s

chill of pine-scented fresh air

(coffee competing)


tiny lights bounce off

ceramic Nativity

figures into the


stillness of the room

proclaiming hope in the midst

of these troubling times

My husband’s 1970s ceramic Nativity set made for him by a favorite aunt (missing a piece or two)

Tomorrow Soup

a black stock pot holds

what I’ve been putting off ~ it’s

hot tomorrow soup!

butter tub ready

for its journey to the back

of the fridge ~ (laughing)

because it knows me

knows this mix will grow moldy ~

cold yesterday soup!

Revisiting 90 Ways of Community

Do you love journals and pens? Are you a particular-type-of-pencil snob? Are you drawn to notepads, Post-It Notes, notecards, and writing tablets of all shapes and sizes? If you said yes to any of these questions and you’ve ever had a secret wish to write poetry but aren’t sure how to start, I might can help.

I want to provide a link to a special book that is a completely free download here in digital form or a cost-of-printing book form here. Each chapter is filled with poems that explain the type of poetry, a prompt to get you started, instructions, and a mentor poem to show a sample by another poet for inspiration.

If you’re looking to set a goal of writing, this book can launch your new healthy habit!

Today is the day!

Write a poem, write a song ~

The world sings along!

Timeless Wisdom

My cousin Elizabeth, center, with us and her parents – my Aunt Ann and Uncle Tom

As far back as I can remember growing up, my dad’s only sister, Ann, has been an active part of my life. She married Tom Downing before I turned one, and they have been there through it all ~ birthdays, holidays, weddings, graduations, and funerals. Aunt Ann can shop for me better than I can shop for myself. She has an eye for putting together an outfit, and she has done this for me and for my grandchildren on several occasions. When my mother died, sisterless herself, she’d phoned Ann with a request before she left this earth.

“Be there for Kim when I’m gone,” she’d asked of my aunt. “She’s going to need you. You know why.”

It didn’t take me long to figure out why I would be spending hours each week on the phone with her. She was the only one who could help me navigate my dad, her brother, who didn’t particularly care for strong women. He was all for women in leadership roles – until they tried to lead him anywhere, and trying to help my dad in his later years would take strength and something I lack when my patience runs out: tact. And so Aunt Ann, always a strong Southern woman to the core and dripping in class, carries the torch as the voice of wisdom whenever I need to talk. She helped me through those final years with Dad, who did not know how to do life without my mother and swore off help from anyone until the bitter end. I could not have survived without my Aunt Ann to lean on.

When my cousin Elizabeth called to invite us to Uncle Tom’s 90th birthday this past Saturday, my husband and I made the drive to their home in Ashford-Dunwoody in Brookhaven, just north of Atlanta, to be part of the festivities. We were blessed to be part of that day, sharing in the memories and the moments of belonging as family. In the midst of the holiday season, with this being the first Christmas without Dad after losing him in June, these times seem to carry more weight. As I walked through their house, each room brought back such memories of all the years there for various events, and I felt the shadow of my childhood self playing games on Thanksgiving Day in the basement while the men watched football and the women cooked. The moments of today carry far more layers of meaning as I return to their home, the place of old pictures and relatives long gone now. Ann and I stood on her front porch for a few moments alone together, remembering the space where we’d all stood smiling as Uncle Tom brought his camera for photos, the space now every bit as sacred as the circle at the Grand Ole Opry, preserved through the years and taken into the newer building just to keep the same floor where the stars have all stood.

We wish Tom a very happy birthday, and cheers to the years ahead and all the years behind along the journey that brought us to now.

it all matters more

today than ever before

these crossroads of life

Aunt Ann’s porch of family pictures through the years
Aunt Ann and me (we both wore cranberry)
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers