After a long weekend working in the yard taking advantage of the gorgeous middle Georgia weather, the best remedy for the sore muscles was a Sunday evening glass of wine in my favorite glass. It’s a ruby chalice that belonged to my parents, and I found it as we were cleaning out the house on the heels of Dad’s death back in June. Red was my mother’s favorite color, and so I brought this cup home with me for those wine nights when I need to unwind and relax. I like that there’s not another one quite like it that I’ve seen anywhere – – and that I can remember Mom as I kick back and take it easy at the end of a productive weekend.
……and just like that, after Halloween candy and football player costumes and all the fun of fall festivals including a hayride around the campus at work, we are thrust unmercifully into the Christmas season. The candy at Dollar General is half price, and the one seasonal row they’d already dedicated to Christmas has expanded to three. It’s the season of eating, and no one is waiting on anything.
Today’s poem is a shadorma, a form similar to Haiku in syllable pattern. This form has six lines, and the syllable count on each line, in order, is 3,5,3,3,7,5. I’m a fan of eating dessert first, so I’m urging all pie lovers to take full advantage of throwing out the rules and questioning whether there is really a main course.
I never laugh as much as when our book club gets together! The books we read and the times we spend talking about them are a balm for my soul.
People have asked me how we “do” our club, because there are so many ways to structure a book club. First, we decide on a book based on someone’s recommendation. We’ve already picked dates through the end of summer and have marked them on our calendars so we guard our time. We sent out digital invitations so we don’t plan any other meetings by accident. Priorities.
Once we know our book and our next meeting time, we read and try not to talk about it with anyone reading it so we don’t give spoilers. Our regularly scheduled gathering spot is our local coffee shop, where they have all the best coffees, a few food items, and the best downstairs couch circle anywhere in town – the kind of leather couches you slide down deep into and wonder if you’re ever going to be able to get out once you get in. The kind with a big coffee table in the middle so there’s room for mugs and plates and stacks of books. We go there and pull out our general book questions as a discussion guide. Sometimes we use questions designed specifically for a book – – like at our most recent gathering, when I’d forgotten to bring the list of universal book questions. Another group member pulled up a set online that we discussed.
The part so many book clubs don’t “do” that sets our club apart is the action part. Every member of our club has a streak of adventure dwelling in our hearts, so we like to think of something the book inspires us to want to do, and then go do that thing. For example, in The Beautiful and the Wild, one of the characters was always drinking tea. One of our members found a local tea room and went for brunch to try different teas, even trying on all the hats and a pair of gloves, too. In The God of the Woods, the characters ate s’mores, so we met for appetizers at the home of one of our members and made s’mores. Having the adventure part adds to the experience of any book, because we do things we wouldn’t ordinarily do on any normal day of our lives. We stay young.
Our latest book, Colleen Hoover’s Regretting You, was released as a movie this month, so we made it our October selection and met for dinner and a movie. We spent as much time discussing the movie and the differences between the book and screenplay, and we were still talking in the dark theater when the manager came in, turned on the lights, and said he was “surprised” to see us there. He was shutting the place down. We were just glad we didn’t get locked in the movie theater overnight. We imagined the headline with humor and horror: Local School District Employees Earlier Reported Missing Found Locked in Local Theater Overnight.
Our next book is The Housemaid by Freida McFadden. The movie comes out December 19, and of course we all have our Regal apps for movie tickets up and running and have booked the date. We’ve decided to leave after the credits finish rolling – – just in case.
I worked with two Humanities teachers in our school district to acquaint students in our 9th Grade Academy with way that they can create poetry from prose. Here is one form of writing we used to mark the geography of a place from our writing. I was using my blog post from Tuesday to model how to let prose inspire poetry.
Golden Shovel Poems
A Golden Shovel poem takes a sentence or phrase from prose (or another poem) and writes it vertically, placing those words at the beginning or end of each line. Ask me about double, triple, quadruple and quintuple shovels…..
I created a writing workshop with two of our Humanities teachers to acquaint students in our 9th Grade Academy with way that they can create poetry from prose. Here is one form of writing we used to mark the geography of a place from our writing. I was using my blog post from Tuesday to model how to let prose inspire poetry. Today’s poem is a Zip Ode.
Zip Ode Poetry
A Zip Ode takes a Zip Code of a place, written vertically, and uses that many words on each line.
Example: Sevierville, Tennessee’s Zip Code is 37764
When the high school teacher called asking if I would be willing to come write poetry alongside students, I jumped at the offer. As a District Literacy Specialist mostly wrapped up in the operational world of data and school improvement, I miss the opportunities of the classroom. That’s where we make the biggest difference.
She read to me the AP Standard on taking poetry from prose and wanted to feature blackout poetry. As we chatted, I shared with her my blog post that day and gave her a copy of 90 Ways of Community, a book on poetry written by one of my writing groups. Together, we considered the various poetry forms that we could use if we modeled the process ~ blackout and found poetry were already on the list, but we added Haiku, X Marks the Spot, Acrostic, Golden Shovel, and Zip Odes as a geographic timestamp bonus of sorts. The students have already created their own personal writing, and we’ll show them how I used a blog post to extract poetry and urge them to do the same.
We’ll model the process.
We’ll feature an overview of possibilities – – a menu of choices – – and then watch their creativity flow onto their paper like they’re mining for gems that they pull out to polish and sparkle.
I’ll remind them that poetry is a process – – not a product. In fact, I’ll probably open the class with something like, “poets and artists have a mindset of creating a lot of bad poems and a lot of bad art.” They’ll wonder who the crazy lady is, but I’ll explain what I mean: perfection is not the goal. Writing is the goal. Thinking is the goal. Not every race is a marathon, not every photo wins awards, and not every book gets 5 stars – – it’s finding the pieces of what we do well and building on those parts so that the process becomes somewhat of a habit. I’ll explain to them that I think in metaphors and syllables, and I take a lot of random pictures to come back to little things I see that will work their way into poems.
Take this, for example:
These kids are a big part of my life. Here stand five of my seven grandchildren in the very spot at the top of a mountain in Sevierville where their parents were married in May 2012. Their other grandparents own that land, and at the bottom, there is a fishing pond. Let’s take a deeper look.
Blazing a trail, tackle box and all
I see two boys (yes, they’re boys – they just have lots of hair) exploring the trail that leads to the pond, tacklebox in hand, ready to to cast a line and spend time fishing. I’ll explain to them that already, my thoughts are swirling in metaphors of adventure, seeking, a quest, a tackle box of what it takes to find, a hook for the found thing to be caught, and the patience and grit to stick with it – and the treks through the mud and the weeds to get there.
Because fishing isn’t about the fish. You can go to the grocery store and get fish. You can order fish from a restaurant – or better yet, you can Door Dash fish.
No, fishing is no more about the fish than poetry and art are about perfection. It’s about the adventure and the process, and the wait for just the right inspiration.
Beckham, who never stands still and quiet, is standing still and quiet – fishing!
It’s about engaging in what it takes to do a thing, whether writing a poem or creating art or catching fish. It’s having the stick-to-it-ness to stand still and be quiet for two hours of a morning and be determined when you’d almost always otherwise be doing something else, but you learn to love a thing and know that there is something, something, something that will bite and that you’ll reel it in and be proud of it, whether it’s big or small.
River with his fish
You’ve caught something you’re proud of, and you can’t wait to share it with the world. So you pose for the photo, holding a fish mouth open the way you’ve been taught, holding the fish a little closer to the camera to make it look bigger than it actually is, and you see the great things about your fish.
And then you release it back into the world, knowing that next time you come back, you may catch that same one again – – or something different, like that turtle your sister caught.
Noli’s shoes tell the story: she’s seizing the day!
Either way, the one thing you cannot buy, like that Door Dashed fish, is the mud on your own shoes from the lived experience.
And that is what poetry is – life, experience, thinking, waiting, casting a line and seeing what comes up on the end of the hook.
So while I may say I’m going to school today, what I’m really doing is going fishing
Today’s the day – – it’s a squeeze and press kind of morning here in middle Georgia, and I will step bravely up to the cold metal instrument of torture and try my best to relax my shoulder as the images of my left and right breasts are taken. I will breathe, count to three, pray, and think of all the fun I was having a week ago from today as we drove through Cade’s Cove to see bears and other woodland animals, and how a prayer brought a bear and her two cubs right across the road in front of us. What a great morning that was!
Metaphorically speaking, I hope there are no bear sightings today, but if there are, I pray they are tiny little cubs that are caught early.
That is always the hope and prayer of a mammogram, and I send that one up today.
It’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Have you had your mammogram?
The Easter holiday before Dad died, I sent him a Bendable, Poseable Jesus of Nazareth. Back before we knew just how sick he was because he kept preaching and going to book sales and doing all the other things he always did, I thought it looked like just the kind of thing he could use for a children’s sermon or could work into some story he was telling. I must confess that I thought it was a bit funny, too, this Bendable, Poseable Jesus figure- – because the adjectives just seem silly, as if the product might sell on name alone. As if Jesus had ever posed for a selfie or been a contortionist.
Imagine my surprise when I found this gift still unopened in the package in the guest room after Dad died. I was going through all the boxes, and up popped Jesus in his Jesus sandals and robes. I decided to take him back home with me. With the way my year has gone throughout 2025, I need all the Jesus I can get.
As we packed to leave for Tennessee for a week with our children and grandchildren, I gathered colored pencils and games, puzzles, and toys to take for the week. I also grabbed Jesus, still packaged, to come along for the ride.
He spent the first couple of days in the kitchen window just in case I got tempted to say any words that would not be appropriate around children. And to remind me to be kind and patient and all the other fruits of the spirit.
Eventually, one of the grandchildren opened him and took him out of the plastic and cardboard, posing and bending the figure and playing with it. Even the baby of the bunch, Silas, got in on the Jesus action.
Silas, checking out Jesus
They played Peek-a-Boo, which may have reminded my daughter of the way my late parents hid a Waldo figure for each other to find. She began hiding Jesus and challenging all the cousins to find him.
Countless times throughout the days, they would play this game, taking turns hiding and finding. My son came up from the game room and asked what they were doing.
“We’re finding Jesus,” they all shouted, in unison. The look on his face was priceless.
On our last day, Jesus was in the middle of a good hide. We’d not seen him since the day before, and we almost forgot him, when my daughter remembered him and asked, “Where’s Jesus?”
Saylor, the oldest granddaughter who’d been the last to hide him, ran back inside and then returned shortly, carrying him out to the car.
“We can’t leave Jesus in Tennessee,” she exclaimed.
Nope, and we didn’t. Jesus is safely packed back in the bag to be hidden again on our next trip together. He’s a part of our daily lives, yes – – but on vacation, He will come along and play all the games with the children, and abide with the adults in a very chaperoning way.
We need as much of Him as we can get.
We all need Jesus
to remind us to be kind
to seek Him daily
Mallory and Beckham with Bendable, Poseable Jesus
With 6 of our 7 grandchildren – Beckham, Saylor, Magnolia Mae (Noli), Sawyer holding Silas, and River
Common Threads 