I wish you a reflective Thanksgiving with your family today ~ moments of deep thought to consider all that we have and time to be grateful for it. On days like this, where I have all the morning to write and a travel post from yesterday waiting to be shared, it seems I need the reflective rock time more than the writing today.
Perhaps you’d like to ponder on it today as well. Look closely – – at one time, it was broken. It has been mended. And it holds messages here for people, for hearts, for families, for nations.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Plymouth Rock in Plymouth, MA – photo taken November 27, 2024
On Monday, I mailed a box of books home to myself because I’d broken my own rules of acquiring anything on this trip that would exceed my carry-on and personal bag capacities for flying back home to Georgia on Friday. No sooner had I mailed the box of 17 books to myself back home, I saw the sign for the Yankee Bookstore in downtown Woodstock and hollered over the sidewalk to let my husband know where he could find me. He was standing by the car, fiddling in his pockets to find change to extend the parking meter from our time in The Vermont Flannel Company so we could take a peaceful walk along the streets to see the sights.
Vermont Flannel Blankets – soft flannel on one side, heavenly fleece on the other, weighted perfectly – I’ll be checking for Black Friday sales.
But bookstores come first, especially the iconic ones in states that have their own brochure mapping out a bookstore tour. The Yankee Bookstore is on Vermont’s bookstore tour, and there it was – – with its bright awning and its lights. Calling my name, summoning me to enter the ranks of readers inside its warmth. I developed a serious case of squirrel when I got in and found so many amazements – – the postcards, for starters.
Postcards I picked up in The Yankee Bookstore
All memory of excessive luggage flew straight out the window as I got lost in the possibilities for next books. I thought of my Kindle in my backpack, its waning charge whispering to me, reminding me that it can carry 17 books and so many more. And as much as I love it for travel, it’s not the same as the turned-page book experience.
I kept wandering, snapped a few pictures of titles while practicing stewardship in keeping things simple, and took a Yankee Book Company flyer with a goal of ordering a hard copy from them to be sent to my home. I want to support indie bookstores, and in the name of reading and freedom to read what we choose, I will.
A shelf of books in The Yankee Bookstore
Two conversations in the bookstore later, we’d learned that the place to eat was The Woodstock Inn. Richardson’s Tavern was booked solid, but there was one more restaurant, and so we hurried over to check it out.
Something my husband and I have come to enjoy in traveling is the shared meal. At home, we don’t order all the courses, ever. We go straight for the main course. Here as we travel, though, we have come to learn that we can experience the culture of local food if we share an appetizer, share a salad, share a soup, share a main course, and share dessert. If we order a local beer, we share that, too. By doing this, believe it or not, we save money and don’t feel as full. We find that we don’t waste food, either. It’s not only enough food, but it’s a richer experience.
My husband waits by the fire
By some miracle, we snagged a 5:30 table at The Red Rooster and then waited by the room-sized fireplace for them to text us that our table was ready.
Oh, this place! The simple decoration and spaciousness, with its cream-colored tablecloths and warm, glowing candles warmed me from the inside from all that Vermont cold outside.
Dinner was nothing short of delicious, but the food had striking presentation as well. My favorite was the combination of Parker’s Rolls and the cheese sampler that featured local cheeses made right down the road in several directions.
The Local Cheese Sampler at The Red Rooster in the Woodstock Inn
After waking up at 506 On the River Inn, I stepped outside at 4:38 a.m. to see whether snow had fallen as predicted, and I saw a frosting of it on the picnic table below. My weather app tells me there is an 85% chance of it today. By the time I got up and showered at 7:00, it was down to a snizzle (which I think is a mix of snow and drizzle). It’s somewhere in between, and even though I’d love to see snow while we’re here, I’m more concerned about the roads. I don’t want to end up like in a real Hallmark movie getting snowed in. It’s fine to watch it happen to others, and I’d love sharing more time away with my husband, but the truth is that I’d miss my dogs too much back home. They’re getting groomings today, so they’ll be over their madness and happy to see us by the time we arrive to pick them up Friday afternoon.
Breakfast: I won’t share my maple syrup pancakes. That’s just not an option. I’m down for the dinner sharing, and maybe even lunch. But breakfast with pure Vermont maple syrup cooked to its required temperature just out the back door from here? No way.
The breakfast area of 506 On the River Inn in Woodstock, Vermont
I couldn’t even wait. I was rude and selfish and had a sampler plate before my husband arrived at the breakfast table. This is where I must confess: travel is like Christmas to me. I can’t wait, and sometimes the excitement kicks into high gear and I forget my manners and rip into the moment without abandon. I met Gloria, the 80ish year old cook, who stepped out of the kitchen and proudly told me all about the apple cinnamon pancakes she’d made fresh, just off the griddle, and she also told me about the maple cream. I’d never seen maple cream, so I tried pancakes with both (1 with maple cream, two with butter and syrup). And now I want the t-shirt that says I’ve Eaten Gloria’s Fresh-Off-the-Griddle Apple Cinnamon Pancakes with Pure Vermont Maple Syrup and Butter in Woodstock, Vermont! I want everyone in the world to know there is an experience like this to be lived.
Pancakes with butter and maple syrup
Pancake with Maple Cream
Friends, they’re off the chain. I owed my husband a huge apology by the time he got to the table and I’d practically finished. However, I did offer him a nugget of guidance: the maple cream is for the people like me with an insatiable sweet tooth. The syrup is for folks like him who like things not quite as sweet. So in that way, it’s better I went first to scope this all out. I see it as a huge favor, for which he owes me no thanks. I’m happy to help.
And now, after breakfast , we step out into the day, heading from Woodstock, Vermont one hour south to West Chesterfield, New Hampshire for the next leg of the trip.
Snow on the weather app, snow plows everywhere, salt trucks brining streets and hotel staff scattering salt on the sidewalks. But no snow to be seen. I couldn’t understand the science of it, either. It ranged between 32 and 34 degrees for a few hours, but all we ever saw was rain. How?
We warmed ourselves by the fire, happy to be in the warmth of this place.
Yoda, the 16-year-old resident cat at The Chesterfield Inn who sleeps curled up by the fire in his favorite chair all day.
And just like Yoda, we were tired, weary from the road and ready to curl up and fall fast asleep. Travel is fun, but travel is exhausting, too. We are ready for some down time, and we hope to find it in the wingback chairs and post bed beneath this beam, the only existing beam from the original barn that was turned into the Inn. I have a friend who stayed here and recommended this quaint, quiet room with its large windows overlooking the trees and the curve of the highway right by the state line between Vermont and New Hampshire along the Connecticut River.
Room 17 of The Chesterfield Inn in West Chesterfield, New Hampshire
Wednesday morning: Later today, we travel from West Chesterfield to Plymouth Harbor, where we will wear the last of our semi-clean clothes to Thanksgiving Dinner and eat where the Pilgrims and Native Americans started this whole thing.
After the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Convention concluded in Boston on Sunday, my husband and I rented a car and started a loop through New England so that we could see a little more of the northeastern United States. Since we didn’t take a vacation anytime earlier this year, we decided to take a trip this week and enjoy some time away to relax and recharge.
I might be a pain as a travel companion. I’m pretty sure I am, because there was frost on the top of the car and I urged my husband to get up and watch the sunrise with me. On the rooftop of a hotel. When the wind was blowing so hard the seagulls were forced into changing course.
I can’t help it. There’s something exhilarating and soul-renewing about the way the sun casts a glow at the top of the day, as if it’s pouring the world a glass of orange juice to serve up energy for all the day brings.
We woke up in Kennebunkport, Maine this morning and did some exploring in that coastal town before driving across New Hampshire to Woodstock, Vermont to do more adventuring in another state.
A pano my husband took in Kennebunkport
Sunrise picture
Christmas tree being decorated in the middle of the street
We’re enjoying watching places decorate for Christmas. We found some men with a ladder decorating a tree in the middle of the street right in the heart of Kennebunkport. There was another crew hanging garland over the bridge, and still more putting out a reindeer with lights and a sleigh and a Santa and a snowman. Snowflakes with lights were hanging at the tops of buildings, and the festive feeling of Christmas was in the air. Some homes had pumpkins on the front porches and wreaths on the front doors, and I feel like I learned something important from that.
On the bridge in Kennebunport (it was so cold I had to buy a hat for my ears to stay warm)
My favorite stop of the day was the U.S. Post Office. I’d broken my own rules by taking 17 books from NCTE with no plan whatsoever for how to get them home in just the carry-on and personal bag I brought along. So I asked my husband to find a Post Office, and one was right down a side street from the middle-of-the-road Christmas tree. I purchased a box, the kind that you peel the sealing tape off the side, scribbled my address in the TO space, and mailed these signed volumes home to myself at the book rate.
The fun came in the place and people, and I’m convinced that the actual Post Office is a character all by itself, with its very old doors that I wished had a register of all the people who’d ever entered and exited. I felt I’d stepped back in time to the 1940s. My next goal is to research the history of the building with its tiny mailboxes and the feeling of nostalgia here that had me wondering if ten thousand ghosts weren’t waving to me from the ceiling space. I saw live people coming and going, but the feeling of past was powerful here, kind of like mediums must feel when giving a fortune telling.
Then there was the man in line behind me, a gentleman of about 80, who was as kind and curious as humans come. He suggested I sit the box down when he saw me holding it so long, but by that time, I was next. He said it looked heavy, but I told him it was all books – and then he got interested……especially when I told him who’d signed them all. Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, Kate McKinnon, Bryan Stephenson, Ada Limon, Sy Montgomery, Matt Patterson, and more.
I kept wondering what was taking so long – – until I got to the window and figured it out. The Postmaster was a character, too – maybe the main one. He was about 70, hilarious with his jokes and fun. His piercing blue eyes and his mannerisms took ahold of me. He had to read the whole script, asking me if I had…..”anything perishable…..any batteries….anything liquid…” even though I kept saying no and had read the screen and pushed the NO button. He smiled a little and peered up over a raised bushy eyebrow atop the rim of his glasses so I would know it was a game. Then, when I asked for elves holiday stamps to mail postcards to the grandchildren, he told me they’d just gotten those in from Graceland, handing me two books. “You know, where all the Elv(i)s live!” I laughed the corny joke laugh, smiled what felt like the realest smile I’d smiled all year long, and wondered why every place couldn’t feel this unhurried and fun. Especially at such a busy time.
Then I stepped back out the doors into 2024.
Look closely for ghosts. I swear they are here somewhere.
My husband’s favorite stop of the day was the Bush compound, and we caught sight of three people walking. We couldn’t tell who they were, but we know someone was home since the flag was up to indicate their presence – plus, we saw several cars including the tell-tale Secret Service black SUV. This was an unplanned stop on the route, but one we both enjoyed. Even though we didn’t get that invitation to come in for a cup of hot chocolate that we stood there hoping for.
When we finally arrived in Woodstock, we went to The Vermont Flannel Company on the suggestion of a friend, who had been during her fall break last year and loved the place.
The bad news: I couldn’t buy a blanket because…… only a carry-on and a personal bag.
The good news: I couldn’t buy a blanket because…….only a carry-on and a personal bag.
I could live in their shirts and wrap up every night in those cozy blankets. And I see why the flannel is such a hit here. It’s freezing. And the Georgians? Yeah, we brought denim jackets and thin nylon windbreakers but no coats……that’s the other bad news. (I awoke early, and below is the forecast for today):
But onward we march, freezing and having a wicked good time.
The Vermont Flannel Company on Elm Street, Woodstock, VT
Even the front doors had me excited! This is a little slice of heaven on earth.
I often experience those spinoff tornadoes of excitement that NCTE brings – the conversations with others that aren’t officially a part of the conference but that take me further down avenues of thought – and occasionally, further down blocks of the city to explore physical places someone mentions.
Such was the case when I met Richard Louth, the creator of the original New Orleans Writing Marathon, whose NCTE workshop in Boston offered attendees the opportunity to participate in The Boston Writing Marathon. In this writing marathon, a large group met and wrote together for a practice session on all the exciting ways to center their writing for the hours ahead. They had a round of sharing with a protocol that allowed everyone to honor the writing of others. Then, they set out in small groups to write in various locations, capturing in words and worlds all that came to mind. When they returned, they shared their writing and experienced the essence of the collective experience.
I’d stopped by to meet Dr. Louth and expressed my disappointment that I would be unable to attend his workshop. My presentation time was overlapping the workshop – but I wanted to know more. He ran for his handout and encouraged me to write, even though I would be unable to be part of the group on the first day of the conference.
He shared more about Virtual Writing Marathons (VWM), explaining, “When the pandemic hit and physical Writing Marathons became impossible, I helped Kel Sassi of the National Writing Project create a VWM program in the summer of 2020. That summer, VWM writers virtually visited a different location in the country for an hour each week under the guidance of a local NWP site and ‘Storymaps’ that focused on different locations, and we wrote and shared in small breakout groups through Zoom. We did 10 weeks that summer, with each VWM attracting 50-60 people on average. The final VWM that summer was in New Orleans. The VWM continued each summer, and it even expanded into monthly Tuesday evening meetings during the school year. We had VWMs in Arkansas and Missouri this fall, and our next will be in January.”
He further added:
“For more information, Google NWP’s ‘Write Across America.’ It’s open to anyone to register…..also, check out the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival website.”
In our later conversation by email, I learned that Dr. Louth had gone to a place called Grub Street with a former student, where they had written together near Pier 4 for their Boston Writing Marathon location.
I had to check it out!
When we approached the doors, my husband shook his head and caught my eye in that fearful kind of way that husbands do when they realize they are about to go broke.
“Ooooh, Baby. This is all you,” he sheepishly conceded, reluctantly patting his wallet.
He was right.
From the moment we entered the place, we breathed life-giving air. Reading and writing particles flitted like glitter through the air and engulfed me in sparkles. In this place was some kind of magic for everyone. My husband took to a corner with a book by Paul McCartney entitled The Lyrics, which explains the backstories of songs. He got lost in a concert all his own, silent music flooding his soul, entering his eyes and exiting through one tapping foot.
Just the patterns of the floors and unique shapes of the light fixtures were captivating. Every now and then, I enter a place where the lighting illuminates the darkest parts of a searching soul – so much that I can feel it. I felt it here in Grub Street.
I was fascinated by the people – some working, some writing, some seeking, some reading. All engrossed in their moments. The winter wear sets a photographic temperature – a very Bostony cold with rain on the way, and winds whipping our faces. We were completely unprepared for the weather, but it added an element of survival to the experience just as any adventure book would reveal in the exposition.
And we were suddenly the coatless characters in this book store story.
I stood for a while and read the titles visitors had added to the list of books that made them feel grateful, a common theme word for the month of Thanksgiving. What book would I add? Mary Oliver’s Devotions, no doubt. And Billy Collins’s Whale Day, Sy Montgomery’s Good, Good Pig. I would run out of Expo markers before I could finish listing all the books that bring to heart a grateful spirit.
I wasn’t able to go upstairs, as the top floor had been shut down for the night, but I’ve added this to my list of places to visit when we return to Boston. What a unique concept – a writer’s haven.
I’m so grateful Dr. Louth shared this place, and thrilled I took the opportunity to visit.
Until we return, I’ll continue to wonder about the upstairs writing that happens at Grub Street.
And a part of me will secretly be grateful that I didn’t get to see it this time.
The wondering fuels the imagination and the dream. And the desire to return.
If you asked me to share the highlight of this year’s NCTE Convention in Boston, I might think for a few moments before landing on an answer, for there is much to consider.
I’d think about the keynote speakers, and how I had the fabulous opportunity to hear Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson share her story and offer signed books so that attendees can all read more about her journey. I stood in that book line for well over one hour, chatting with a writing friend, happy to have the right to read and the freedom to choose it. I did not complain, either, like I do in Wal Mart when there is a long line.
I’d think of Kate McKinnon of Saturday Night Live and Weird Barbie and Ms. Frizzle voice fame and also getting a copy of her new signed book.
With Kate McKinnon and a signed copy of her new book
I’d think of the trade book author signings – meeting them, sharing a photo op, and wondering about all the unique ways they sign. I’d think of the sessions – trying to pick just one each time – and the poster and mini sessions offering shorter chunks of learning time.
With Linda Rief, the queen of the Quickwrite, who attended our session where I was leading a quickwrite as part of a poetry process – and stayed at my roundtable for a double round! Love this author!
I’d think of the iconic green couch and the surrounding cityscapes with the vast array of restaurants and historic landmarks.
I’d think of the quiet moments of reading and writing, and I’d think of the wide webs of networking and meeting new friends.
I’d think of the excitement of sharing the five books my writing group has written over the past year, and the way it feels like we are walking on a cloud every single time we get to open the pages of them and share them with others – and presenting on two of them at this NCTE Convention. I hope that the two that will be published by Routledge Press in 2025 will bring us back to NCTE next year in Denver to present on those titles as well.
Enjoy a complimentary download of the books above with this QR code!
I’d think, too, of the Boston Writing Marathon Workshop that was being held at the same time as my presentation and how Richard Louth, the founder of the writing marathon and leader of the workshop, ran for his handout (I felt like I might cry) because I was hungry for the experience and needed to know more – and how I’d emailed him and he’d responded, inviting me to join in and share my writing. He’d even suggested a peaceful place to go and write – at Boston’s “Grub Street,” a bookstore/coffee shop/ cafe with a top floor for writers at work. I’ll feature my visit to that shop in tomorrow’s blog.
Sy Montgomery and Matt Patterson signed my book, “To Our #1 Fan, Kim!” I got there early to be first in line. I’ve been a fan of Sy’s for many years, and love that she is here in Boston, right where she did all of her research at the New England Aquarium and made me cry with grief over Octavia in The Soul of an Octopus.
The highlights would be hard to determine, but I wouldn’t have to think long before responding that the most heartfelt highlights of NCTE are found in the connections – – the sharing of stories, dreams, and ideas. Breathing the same air as 7,800 other educators who are all passionate about their careers and their love of reading and writing is empowering. Planning a session with a virtual poetry writing group, then presenting together and meeting for dinner is energizing. Having dinner a second night with yet another writing group (my blogging friends from Slice of Life) is the icing on the cake. To meet those face to face with whom you’ve read and written over the years is a gift – one that continually reminds us that the simple act of finding the beauty in an ordinary moment and sharing it in writing so that we can all be present across the miles – and then holding togetherness in person – is as humanly highlighting as it gets.
The Slice of Life writing group met at Serafina in Boston Seaport
With fellow Georgia educator and children’s book author Randi Sonenshine, who turned up at the front of the line early, too, to meet Sy Montgomery because Sy inspired her children’s picture book The Den That Octopus Built. It was great to see her again!
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.
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.
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!
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.
Common Threads 