I want to go back
to the mountains with this crew
the photos show why
November 2
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
Gratitude for the Kindred Spirits Book Club and My Writing Group Friends
Last year, we started a Central Office book club in our rural Georgia school district. This was Janette’s idea, but she graciously allowed me to help organize its inception. We asked another local book club if we could read their books they were not using, and we gave each title another round of reading before placing these in Little Free Libraries according to the grant provisions with which they were originally purchased. This club has become a sisterhood, and much like my writing group friends, our interactions go beyond the daily water station office talk into what goes on in our lives and how we feel about issues that arise in the books we read. We connect on a deeper level this way.
We’re a cross-section of society, which lends to richer discussion. I’m the oldest. Martina is the youngest. All of us are mothers and wives. Two of us are real sisters (Jill and Joy). Four of us are grandmothers. Two of us are preachers’ kids. We’ve all been through some tough times and bring differing perspectives to our conversations. But what’s most important is that we are all readers, we understand that every book is not going to get five stars but that there is something to take from each, and we embrace our collective voice on womanhood and readership. We’re the Kindred Spirits – and we are aptly named.
Last April, I shared a poem with our group each day during National Poetry Month, and while most were written by well-known poets, one or two were poems that I wrote. They know that writing poetry is what keeps me balanced at all times, but particularly in tough times – of which there have been many lately in my life. When my father died in June, I was sad that he would not be here to see the book I’d been working on for so long come out on Labor Day weekend.
Imagine my surprise when my Kindred Spirit sisters knew I was feeling down and threw an after-lunch dessert party for me and presented me with a poem that they had all written to cheer me up and celebrate me. I was moved to tears as they explained that they had each written two lines, and that the lines appeared in alphabetical order according to their names: Janette, Jennifer, Jill, Joy, and Martina.
I framed it and keep it among my greatest treasures; it means so much to me that in a time when I was grieving, my reading sisters built me up and reminded me that we are all in this together – – and that the tears along the journey can be turned into laughter and joy. We feel it in our local coffee shop on our small town square each month as we sip our brews and talk about the characters we have come to love (and dislike). We feel it at work as we deal with our day to day duties, and we will feel it in the movie theater later this week as we watch our monthly novel come to the big screen: Colleen Hoover’s Regretting You.
I’m not sure where I’d be without my reading group – and my writing groups. Today is a day to celebrate all of you (if you’re reading this, it includes you, too) who make a difference in my life. My glass is raised to you, dear friends, for all that you mean to me. You inspire me, and I appreciate each and every one of you!
Books We’ve Read in our Club So Far:
The Beautiful and the Wild by Peggy Townsend
First Lie Wins by Ashley Elston
The Last Flight by Julie Clark
Mother-Daughter Murder Night by Nina Simon
The Wedding People by Allison Espach
One Tuesday Morning by Karen Kingsbury
God of the Woods by Liz Moore
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid
Regretting You by Colleen Hoover
and
Selected Poems-a-Day for National Poetry Month
Book Club Haiku
we’re always on the
lookout for our next great read
….any suggestions?
Open Write Day 1 of 3 October 2025 – Fran Haley
Our host today for the first day of the October Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Fran Haley of North Carolina. She and I are teaming up together this month to bring the writing prompts for the three days of this month’s challenge. Fran and I both live in small towns with the same name – she in North Carolina, and I in Georgia. Here’s a little more about Fran Haley:
Fran Haley is a K–12 literacy educator who coordinates elementary programs centered on a love of books and the joy of reading aloud. She helps young writers find their voices on the page in creative ways. A pastor’s wife, mom, and Franna of two spirited granddaughters, she savors the quiet rhythms of rural life near Raleigh, NC. The pre-dawn hours are Fran’s sacred writing time; you can find her there in the stillness, seated at the kitchen table with a sleeping puppy (a miniature longhaired dachshund named Jesse) in her lap. She authors the blog Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life.
Fran inspires us to write by reminding us of the significance of today. She says, “Today is the third Saturday in October, which happens to be National Sweetest Day, according to the National Day Calendar. Originally “Candy Day,” the recognition began in 1916 with American confectioners encouraging high standards in candy-making and the patronage of candy shops and bakeries. The observance was suspended due to sugar rationing in World War I. “Candy Day” eventually resumed; historians note that it was also meant to be altruistic, a time for buying sweets and distributing to those who could not afford them. The holiday later evolved into “Sweetest Day” and the giving of notes, cards, and gestures of love. “
She wonders what “sweet things” we can consider and shares her process here:
She adapted the list of suggestions on National Day Calendar for our purpose today:
- Write a poem about your favorite candy or dessert
- Write a metaphorical “sweet” recipe
- Write a poetic note of love to a neighbor, co-worker, friend, or family member
- Write a poem based on song lyrics about candy (think “Big Rock Candy Mountain”), or any “sweet” song you love
- Write a sweet memory or gesture made toward you
Fran chose the last option, in narrative free verse.
Fran’s Poem
The Gift
Late in the evening
my husband aims the remote,
presses a button,
banishes flickering ghosts.
All is still and silent in the lamplight.
He turns to me:
“You know I love you, don’t you?”
That timbre—
that deep, low note in his voice
—my brain translates to
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!
Prepare for impact!
Even as I answer, Yesss, I am guessing:
The doctors have called. It’s his heart again.
Or worse. What now. What now.
We’ve spent the last decade—
a quarter of our marriage—
skidding to sudden stops,
pressing the pause button,
resuming in altered states,
patched and scarred.
I can’t even summon a prayer.
I brace for the crash.
The shattering.
But he’s just scrolling on his phone.
He holds it out:
“What do you think of this?”
A photo of a red-gold puppy
lying on a blanket.
I can’t process.
I’ve missed a cue
—how early does dementia begin?
“Precious,” I say, confused.
My husband looks at me for a long moment,
then: “He’s ours.
I put down a deposit
three days ago.”
What am I hearing?
Is this real?
A dream?
My heart had given up hoping
for a dog, in light of his battles…
yet this man, so valiant
in suffering,
begins to sob
with the magnitude
of his own sacrifice,
offering me
new life.
And she passes the pen to us with the challenge to write our own Sweetest Day poems. Here is mine:
Pajama Adventure to Krispy Kreme
it was just after 7 a.m.
I was still in pajamas
writing at the kitchen table
on family vacation
when my son asked
you want to take a ride?
I reminded him: I’m still in pajamas
no worries, he assured ~ come on!
the hot light came on as he pulled
into the parking lot
and a couple dozen later
we were on our way back
with hats and hot glazed doughnuts,
creme filled and sugar-laden,
to share with the others
just as the good Lord
intended
Cades Cove Peace
wonder-filled wildlife
sightings, up close and first-hand
driving through Cades Cove
Everyone who joined in this family gathering in Sevierville, Tennessee had their things they wanted to do – – the Smoky Mountain Nascar Speedway, Anakeesta, family game night, dinner out at a special restaurant, and movie time. Mine was visiting Cades Cove, a nature sanctuary that is part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, where on any given day you can see bears (most hoped-for sighting), wild boar, river otters, deer, foxes, bobcats, snakes, raccoons, wild turkeys, and all kinds of other birds and small mammals.
I was among the throngs hoping to spot a black bear when we entered the eleven mile one-way driving loop through the park. We were blessed with weather every day on this trip, with clear skies and morning temperatures in the upper 50s and afternoons rising into the upper 70s.
We drove past countless creek beds, where we took time to look extra-close for thirsty wildlife out for a morning drink.
And although we didn’t stop at any of the historic churches or homes in the area, we did make a quick trek through the visitor’s center for a souvenir sweatshirt and time to stretch our legs.
The rustic vibe of the cabins and the outdoor beauty created the perfect mood to set the stage for all of the surprises ahead. First, we saw a murder of crows and tried to say murder as many times as we could. October’s spooky chill and the turning of the leaves cast a charming spell on us as we wound through the park, my window down and Zoom lens ready to snap photos of anything that moved.
I never knew this rule, but being in the car kept us safe from any mama bears that might get protective – – if we were fortunate enough to see one.
Songbirds sang and perched on limbs overhead, and we spotted a doe in the clearing. I wondered whether I, if I were a doe, would choose this place to raise my family. Surely it has its more elevated risks, or at least I predict that it would.
Next, we noticed cars slowing and barely creeping in the line. Up ahead, there was a rafter of turkeys – about ten or twelve, out in the field to the left of us. They crossed right in front of us as we approached. I said a prayer, “Lord, I loved seeing those turkeys, but if you could arrange a bear crossing right in front of us, I’d like to put in a request. Thank you.” And onward we drove.
Up ahead and around the bend, my daughter saw a rustling in the bushes just feet from her passenger door in the back seat. We slowed down, and there in the thicket was a black bear, ambling along the shrubs. We gave it some space as it stepped out directly in front of the car to cross the road.
If you’ve never seen a bear in the wild, its beauty will leave you spellbound. It’s a sight like no other, and its lumbering walk hints at playfulness and strength all at once. I imagined that if it had seen a rabbit at that very moment, we’d have seen the speed and agility of a breakfasting bear. It was, after all, 10:18 a.m. as it stepped out from the trees onto the paved loop.
We sat back, in awe, as it made its way into the woods on the other side, my camera set to click-click-click its every step of the way.
And then, my daughter announced another was behind it – – a little black bear cub, following its mama. Maybe a yearling – – it was a sight to behold, its ears not quite as perked and its steps much lighter and less lumbering. There it went, right behind her, disappearing into the dense woods. We started to move ahead, hoping to catch sight of them walking along the edge of the forest.
But wait.
There’s more.
Another little cub ran across, trying its best to keep up with the family. It was so cute, and looked to be a bit smaller than the first cub.
We pulled over at the place to stop and watch, and we got caught in the line of traffic approaching to see what we’d witnessed. A wildlife viewing traffic jam happened, but for one moment we had a front row seat to the wonder and excitement of a family of bears.
We watched for a while as the cubs played at the foot of a tall tree, with mama off in the distance pausing just ahead of them in a dip of a hill. They tumbled and tossed like two little kids would roll around in the floor, putting on a show for all who were watching.
And then we drove on, leaving our space for others who wanted to catch a glimpse of them.
We decided to take the loop one more time, jockeying off down Sparks Lane instead of exiting the cove. And while we didn’t see another bear, we did encounter a wild boar off in one of the meadows. A park ranger was stationed there to keep the cars moving in that area of the park. We learned that the boars are fairly common in Cades Cove, but that this was a rare sighting because the boars are generally nocturnal and secretive in nature.
We forged ahead, keeping watch for other wildlife, and I thanked the Good Lord for the front row seat to the bears I got to see. I’m as thankful for that wild hog, the turkeys, the crow and other birds, and the deer as I am the bear and her cubs, but the bears added a special layer of joy and happiness to the adventure. And God knew they would!
We’ll be back again. This is a treasure of a drive, rather like the Yellowstone of Tennessee. It’s an unforgettable excursion, and one I’m glad I could share with family!
In the Kitchen in the Great Smoky Mountains
we’re sharing
the joy of cooking
one night at a time
one bite at a time
celebrating
family ties
in magical aprons
How To Pumpkin
In one weak moment in the grocery store on the way to Tennessee, I spotted them. Those little pie pumpkins that would be perfect for each of the six younger grandchildren who would be coming on this trip. The idea was to decorate them with Sharpie markers so that they could take them home and start decorating for Halloween. I carefully picked six and placed them gently in the buggy. In my perfect Hallmark movie vision, the family would gather at the table that I would cover in rolled paper and we’d stand in awe as our little artists went to work, safeguarding the permanent markers to be sure the creative flair stayed at the pumpkin table and not on a wall. But first, we’d draw a large pumpkin patch with colored pencils to set the mood and bring on the Halloween chill-in-the-air vibes. We’d draw a fence, bats, cats, owls, ghosts, leaves, and, of course, pumpkins.
It wasn’t ten minutes after covering the table in the rolled paper for drawing our pumpkins that I noticed a stray Sharpie marker cover without the pen on the table amid the color pencils. It sent me into panic mode for every white wall in this place. I’d accidentally left one Sharpie in the bag, and one of the grand young’uns had found it and gotten a head start on the pumpkin decorating, a lot like finding the Christmas presents and having a private gift opening session unto themselves.
It was Beckham, better known as Buckey, only spelled differently from the famous all-in-one gas station chain he loves. He’s the one who is always a step ahead of everyone else, keeping us all on our chess game strategy of which move he’ll make next so we can try to guard our Queen. He’s the checkmate kid of the bunch.
Then there’s River, who still wears his yellow and black Transformers robe every day. We got it for him for Christmas in 2023 with a little room to grow, and here he is in 2025, still rocking the robe. He’s usually leading every outdoor adventure and thinks like a scientist, always experimenting in the physics of things. He led the final pumpkin activity that happened all in the same day and was never planned – at least by me.
And then there is Saylor, who wrapped her pumpkin in pink Washi tape and called it a day. There are still Sawyer, Noli, and Silas, whose pumpkins remain ready and full of possibility for pie or carving. Safe from the plans River had.
Out on the porch overlooking the valley with the mountains in the distance, I noticed Noli, the youngest granddaughter, along with Sawyer, the second oldest grandson, and my son Marshall, their dad, watching something off the side of the balcony. Sure they’d spotted a family of young bear cubs with their lumbering mother tumbling in play, I rushed over only to discover that two of the perfect pie pumpkins I’d gently placed in the grocery cart were now part of a full-on science project as the kids hurled them down the steep hill on the side of the house we’re renting for the week in the Tennessee mountains.
I was scared a kid would go tumbling down the hill next, but my instinct to holler for them to come back inside was quelled by my son, who reminded me that they are used to scaling mountains barefooted and all since their other grandparents have a mountain house they visit regularly and run just as wild there. “They’re okay. Let’s watch what happens,” he assured me.
And sure enough, everyone is safe, even after two of the pumpkins split wide open, revealing fleshy pulp, pumpkin slime, and seeds. Saylor came in, wanting to know if we could roast them. So here was yet the actual final pumpkin activity that she stretched out and made fun. We spread single layer onto parchment paper and revved up the oven.
Thirty minutes later, we had roasted pumpkin seeds.
I thought back to the careful selection of the pumpkins and the gentle placement of each in the cart. How my vision was so limited and idyllic, and how much further the kids stretched the whole pumpkin experience – – from drawing them to decorating them to rolling them down a hill to roasting the seeds and feeling the stringy insides to eating the seeds, all salty and nutty and warm.
And in these moments, I realize how much more I can learn from my children and grandchildren than they will ever learn from me. To stand back and watch them discover. To let it all unfold outside my own vision for how I see it happening – because my ideas are limited, and theirs are boundless.
To savor each
moment take it all in
for under the surface
are delicious seeds
I never imagined,
just waiting…..
Revealing the Theme: Haynes Family Fireside Stories 2025
On the first night of the trip, I got Sawyer to share the theme of this year’s trip since the gathering we had in June was sad for everyone. We wanted to shift the grief of our Dad and Papa to togetherness and fun by telling old stories by the fire and making new memories as we get out and go adventuring. And so our theme is……
Sawyer revealed our
family mountain trip theme:
Fireside Stories! (Shirts)
for this year’s trip: Haynes Family Fireside Stories 2025
Common Threads 