Category: Gratitude

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Open Write Day 2 of 3 November 2025: Traditions Tanka with Mo Daley of Illinois

Mo Daley is our host for today’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write tanka poems to share our traditions. This may be one you’d like to try today, so I’m including her directions below.

Mo writes, “This time of year always gets me thinking about traditions. There are many my family and I look forward to celebrating with each other. I really love hearing about other peoples’ traditions, too. Hayrides, Oktoberfest, pumpkin patches, bonfires, corn mazes, pumpkin carving, and cooking might be some of the traditions that come to mind when you think of fall. Today’s poem is a way for you to flex your poetic muscles while letting all of us learn a little bit more about you and the traditions you observe.” 

Mo inspires us with these words: “Write a tanka or series of tankas telling us all about a favorite, or maybe least favorite, fall tradition. A tanka is a traditional Japanese poetic form of 31 syllables over 5 lines. The syllable count is 5/7/5/7/7. Usually there is a turn in the third line. Consider focusing on sensory images to help us feel like we are right there with you. “

You can read Mo’s poem at the Open Write today by clicking here. In my poem below, I feel the need to clarify the spelling of the yellow bear. My first grandson could not say yellow, so when my son suggested they go on a bear hunt on our farm in rural Georgia to find the highly-elusive-never-before-seen yellow bear, my grandson couldn’t stop talking about the lellow bear, and none of us have called it anything different ever since. I still have the picture of them setting out to find it, and it warms my heart to think that one simple moment, one slight of the tongue, became a family tradition that remains to this day.

Traditions Tanka

first, the pumpkin bread

that started when they were kids

I tie the apron

sift the flour, mix in the eggs

add sugar, spices, pumpkin

dominoes thunder

onto great granny’s table

the one I redid

while the bread bakes, we play games

we pair with grandkids

we all walk the farm

looking for the “lellow bear”

every eye stays peeled

lellow bear is elusive

someday, we might catch a glimpse

the coffee pot stays

full of fresh brew to help us

keep up with these kids

Scrabble (turntable version)

for adults, post-kids’-bedtime

togetherness fills my soul

I take a deep breath

they were born last week

now here they are, with their own

tears of gratitude well up

Several years ago ~ from the time of his first bear hunt to early teens
The walk that started it all: the first hunt for the elusive lellow bear
Today, the hunts continue
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Open Write Day 1 of 3 November 2025 with Mo Daley of Illinois: Clean Up and Clean Out

Our host today for the first day of the Monthly Open Write for December is Monday Daley of Illinois, who inspires us to write cleaning poems since it is National Clean Up Day. You can read her full post here, along with her mentor poem and the response poems of the writers who participate.

Earlier this year, those in the school district office where I work were saddened to learn that our favorite custodian had taken a job in a neighboring county because of lower wages in our own. We understood. But we grieved that daily absence of one who was more than a custodian to us. She was a friend who shared about her children and the concerns of her country. She was family. She’d given us her number in case we ever wanted to call to have our own personal homes cleaned, which she offers as a service on weekends.

The older I get, the more difficult cleaning is, and if I’ve learned one thing from my father’s aging process, it’s this: stay on top of the cleaning. As I near 60 years of age, I hear my own words of advice to him echoing through the veil of time: “Hire someone. Don’t try to do all this by yourself. There are professionals out there who know what to do and how to do it better than you can.”

So two weeks ago, I called my friend Dianelys to come and meet with me about cleaning. She brought her mother along, the one who loves plants but doesn’t speak any English. I saw her mother giving approving nods to the plants as we walked through the house so I could show her what I would like to have done. I’ve been establishing some Night Blooming Cereus stalks, so I plan to leave one out today with a note for her and her sister in law to take to her mother, on this first day that Dianelys will clean our house with her cleaning partner.

And so today, on this National Day of Cleaning, it seems fitting to write my 6,7 poem to celebrate Dianelys and cleaning.

Taking My Own Advice

I’m taking my own advice,

Dad, doing what I thought you

should have done years ago

you’d be proud of me today

phoning a friend to help

where my abilities now

fall short ~ bending, vacuuming,

scrubbing, shining, polishing ~

I look to the Heavens

offer a gratitude smile

as always, you taught me well

one way or another

this cleaning hits the targets

that need it most ~ for me and

my friend, Dianelys

she’ll be here in two hours

with her mop bucket and rags

so now the mad dash to clean

before the real cleaner comes

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November Tricube

Sometimes when I tap my pencil or my fingers, I feel the rhythm of a poem I hadn’t planned on writing. It’s like hearing music and wanting to dance, only there’s no music and I don’t want to dance. I think this might be like the call of the spirit wolf to the cub who spent hours on end reading poetry with a flashlight as a child and has now grown up – – and something rhythmic this way comes on a howling wind outside. Or something Iike that.

One of the poets in one of my writing groups – I believe it was Denise Krebs – introduced us to the tricube form a few years ago. It’s three stanzas, each with three lines,

each with three syllables. The rhyme pattern is a,b,c,a,b,c,a,b,c, and the meter is trochee with stressed/unstressed/stressed. These are just fun to write, especially using seasonal words. Try one today!

November Tricube

turkey stew
pumpkin spice
gravy boat

fireplace flue
windshield ice
hooded coat

vibrant view
saffron rice
.....did you vote??....

A Challenge for the week:

Fellow blogger Anita Ferrari inspires a new poem today. One I have not yet written. She writes of the six seven syndrome going around. You can read her post here. This week, I’m going to try several variations of six seven poems – – poems with six syllables on one line, seven on the next. Poems with six words, then seven, and even six stanzas and then seven. I’ll post them this week and then one again next Tuesday. Anyone up for the challenge?

Let’s write six seven poems this week! Who’ll join me??

Thanks to Two Writing Teachers at Slice of Life
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November Gift Basket

One type of poem I’ve been writing this year is a gift basket poem – – what would I give a recipient in any given month of the year? For November, the choice is clear: it’ll be filled with brown things. 

If I were giving
you a gift basket
I’d go basketweave brown!


you’d receive
a caramel cake, fresh-baked and glazed
to gratify all visiting gobblers


a leather-bound gratitude journal
to gather your blessings this holiday season


and a warm wooden photo frame
to season your photos like a perfectly browned turkey ~
a cornucopia of nourishment sure 
to fill your appetite!

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November 7 – Country Evening

Country Evening

rural countryside

full moon rising, stars falling

Great Horned Owls conspire

Now that the trees have been harvested, we can see shooting stars from our front porch!

We have a pair of Great Horned Owls who like to chatter late into the night.
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November 5

On the first Monday evening of each month at 7 p.m., I meet with a small group of Stafford Challenge poets via Zoom. We’re also members of EthicalEla, and we’ve presented together at NCTE. Periodically, we’ll text each other a poem or prompt. Our evening meetings include time for writing and sharing.

Our group consists of Glenda of Idaho, Denise of California, Barb of Iowa, and me. We weren’t sure whether or not Denise was going to make it this week, but she texted us a prompt in case we wanted to try the writing prior to the meeting and have something to share.

This was her prompt:

Screenshot

Steering clear of adverbs was challenging (I think of Stephen King’s words: the road to hell is paved in adverbs). Writing without them is not easy. I noticed the need for doubling down on adjectives to meet the sensory part of the prompt and also accepting that this would be a major run-on sentence. Here is the poem I shared with my small group on Monday night:

we’re listening to Christmas music, joy

filling our hearts and souls ~ chicken pot pie

piping hot and broiler-top crisped and browned

our three schnozzles snoozing by the fireplace

Sam’s Club Members Mark Old Vine Zinfandel

spilling from a ruby red wine chalice

catching each sparkle of shimmering light

Vermont Flannel blankets warming our toes

in forest green and rich brown earth-tone plaid

on this crisp night here in rural Georgia


I’m so thankful for my writing friends who always inspire me to try new forms and challenges. And Denise showed up – – after a long day of travel, in a Chipotle, still not yet having arrived at her destination for the evening. The four of us each shared a poem and caught up on life, and for that time of fellowship, I am grateful.

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Book Club Pick: Regretting You

first we read the book~

then, our club met for dinner

before the movie

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.

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October 24 – Writing with Students

New Poetry Forms Nonet

today I get to write with students

showing them new poetry forms

#hashtag acrostics await

poems taken from prose

hidden in the lines

existing text

there for the

prompt of

words

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

And I can’t wait to see what all we catch!

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Bendable, Poseable Jesus

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
Our 4 – Ansley, Andrew, Marshall, and Mallory