Patchwork Prose and Verse
A shadorma poem is one with six lines, in this syllable sequence: 3/5/3/3/7/5. My One Little Word (OLW) of 2026 is Onward!
Onward!
what we bring
into this new year
depends on
what is worth
keeping ~ and having the strength
to let the rest go
Years ago, Ali Edwards challenged a growing following of folks to choose ONE LITTLE WORD to take with them through the year as a sort of guiding light or inspiration. 2026 will be my fifth year of choosing a word to walk through the year with me. In 2022, my One Little Word was listen. I learned so much that year holding that one word that for 2023, I kept the same word again – listen. In 2024, I chose pray. In 2025, I chose enough – and life has had its way of showing me some ironic twists on that word.
There is power in words – a strange magic. There is killing and healing and nurturing and reassurance and hope. There are dreams and hard realities, wishes and escapes and triumphs and failures. What I’ve learned by choosing my One Little Word is to choose it carefully – because it has its way of revealing its truths and meaning in ways I never expected. This is not just some flippant exercise where people string some letters together and leash them like a stray dog to drag into a new year, hoping the mystery of the universe will reveal itself. I had no way of knowing last year at this time, as I had finished cleaning out a house and barn in 2024 with the dream of getting our belongings down to just “enough,” that Dad would die smack-dab in the middle of 2025, leaving a lot of loose ends untied, including a house and seven storage rooms filled with a lifetime of more than enough. Since June, the weight of these things and their encumbrance has felt anchoring – and not in a healthy or freeing way. There is still much to be done in the two-steps-forward, one-step-back dance of getting rid of things…..and of letting things go (and there is a difference). It takes time, but the important thing is getting through it. Thank God for my brother and sister-in-law, who have saddled the horse and taken the reins. No pun intended.
How does anyone choose a word? Do I choose a word I need to do, like listen or pray? Do I choose a word I want to do, like read or travel? I believe in verbs. They’re actionable.
Enough was another story, though. This word functions as adjective (enough food), adverb (tall enough), pronoun (have you had enough?), noun (there is enough for everyone), and even as an interjection (Enough!). It all depends on the placement of the word in the sentence. But enough does not function as a verb. It’s the most passive word I’ve chosen as a One Little Word (OLW).
So how? How do I pick one word? Am I overthinking all of this? I need to pray, to listen, to do, to plan, to act, to forgive, to express, to read, to write, to diet, to focus, to breathe, to rest, to exercise, to clean, to laugh, to cry, to grieve and to smile. I want just enough, not too much, and not too little. I feel like a character in a cartoon on a journey standing at one of those signs with a thousand arrows in all directions, not sure of which way to go but feeling packed and ready, map of possibilities in full color in the side of my bag, but there is this ball and chain around my ankle. I simply need to get in motion. To amble, to saunter, to skip, to run, to perambulate, to jump, to not sit still, to not stand by, to take action on movement, to leap, to walk. To go in some direction. Onward.
Onward.
Here’s a word to get me through days, through meetings, through books, through situations, through decisions. Momentum to keep turning the pages, to forge ahead into new experiences and new chapters.
Onward.
It’s an adjective, an adverb, and can be an interjection. It keeps moving in a direction, not standing still or getting stagnant, pressing on but not missing the important moments, either – just not getting bogged down and feeling like my wheels are stuck in the mud.
Onward.
Not necessarily forward or backward, upward or downward but whichever direction seems best to choose. Like bedward at 9:00 p.m. Onward, toward or at a point ahead in time or space.
Onward.
For the last six months of 2025, I’ve felt anchored by the weight of belongings and random antiques and collectibles that were not my acquisitions. I’ve felt handcuffed in the anger and sadness of grief. It’s time to cut it loose…..to let it go…..to move….
Onward.
I sit in a rustic green rocker on a porch facing the Rough River in Falls of Rough, Kentucky this morning with a cup of coffee. A thousand birds are worshiping their maker in glorious song, competing with the heater that sits adjacent to the front porch. Here is my list of choir members so far:
American Robin
Belted Kingisher
Northern Cardinal
European Starling
White Throated Sparrow
Yellow-rumped Warbler (butterbutt)
Song Sparrow
House Sparrow
Tufted Titmouse
Mourning Dove
Carolina Wren
Red-tailed Hawk
House Finch
Blue Jay
American Crow
Ring-billed Gull
Canada Goose
It’s the robins who are leading in worship here this morning. They all are competing for the title of soloist extraordinare. In the distance, I hear a woodpecker, but he is beating the drum and not singing, so I cannot tell what kind he is.
The river is still, smooth as glass and muddy. and of the ten or so cabins in this remote area, only one other is occupied. There isn’t another soul outside, so I hold the only ticket to this private concert-for-one.
At least for now. The boys will be up shortly.
OOh, ooh – and just now, the woodpecker flew across the river to a hole in a tree, and I can see that it is one of the smaller varieties. And then it attempts its own clownish note, and Merlin declares it is a Northern Flicker.
The sky is a steel gray with morning clouds supposed to burn off by mid-morning. We came in after dark last night and can hear the falls rushing under the bridge we drove across, but that will take a walk or ride to see them.
for just this moment
the rest of the world stands still
I bask in birdsong
Then, all at once, every bird ceases to sing, as if their concert has ended with one Amen in unison, and they have other things to do, other places to be. I am left alone in the silence of this porch, where three small noses are sniffing under the front door to take in the world here outside and to remind me that they, too, have their own offerings to give. That’s my beckoning to get up and help Briar walk them on their leashes down to the water’s edge and hold on tight, at least where Fitz-the-brave-hunter-of-anything-that-moves is concerned.
I can see how Ada Limon, the U.S. Poet Laureate who lives in Lexington, Kentucky, finds her writing groove here in this state. There is magic in the air for those who take the time to notice.
Later today, at 2:00 Kentucky time, I’ll attend my grandson’s first birthday party. He’ll be one tomorrow, and what a joy he is! In the flurry of activity and excitement, I will think back to this porch and all its lack of demands and be thankful that God gives us children when we are young, so that in our golden years we can fully appreciate the power of the front porch.
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
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!
Drifting Off
every night, my husband gives me a
magnesium cream foot massage
to help me get better sleep
before bed, we read for
an hour to unwind ~
bedwarmers, we
turn pages
drifting
off
With a hug of gratitude to the ladies at wholesomehippy, who make good sleep great.
go forth in reading
peace, turning the pages of
life in full color
Last night was our first annual Kindred Spirits Book Club Christmas Party, and six ladies celebrated a year of reading 11 novels and one month of daily poetry with dinner and dessert, games, gifts, and laughter. We even chose our first book of 2026 (Not Quite Dead Yet by Holly Jackson) as we picked our seats for the movie The Housemaid, which we will see together later this month as a book-related adventure.
Our book club came as a granted wish of one of our reading sisters who had been attending a book club sponsored by one of our community partners when we were grant recipients of an initiative to build literacy in schools and communities. This community partner experienced a change in its leadership when its organizer took a different job, so our book club sister Janette came up with a brilliant idea. She suggested that we pick up the pieces and read the books that were purchased, and then, to preserve the integrity of the grant, to fill the Little Free Libraries with these books once we finished reading them and having our meetings.
At first, we weren’t sure whether a book club would take root, but we took Janette’s idea and extended an invitation in January 2025 to read a book and meet at our local coffee shop a few weeks later to discuss it. We found some universal book club questions and were thrilled when six of us came to talk about it. By the time we finished the first couple of books, we had enough momentum to choose books not provided through the grant to continue the club all year. Fast forward to December, and we’re still going strong.
We were not all diehard readers when we embarked on the journey. A couple of us knew we needed books – – and adventures that are sparked by things we’ve read – – but what we didn’t know is how much we needed each other. We’re a classic example of an eclectic group of women with different reading tastes, in different stages of life, with a range of life experiences. But we’re drawn together by books that unify us and common themes that allow us to share our own perspectives. And when human hearts find the right books and the right space, they bond as readers with a sweet kinship. Like us, they are Kindred Spirits.
This morning, I celebrate a year of reading with Janette, Joy, Jill, Jennifer, and Martina. Here are the books we’ve read in our club this year, in order, along with the adventure we shared (a few of us belong to other reading clubs, but here is our list):
| January – The Beautiful and the Wild by Peggy Townsend | Emerald Chandelier Tea Room Brunch |
| February – Mother-Daughter Murder Night by Nina Simon | Mexican Restaurant Night |
| March – The Wedding People by Alison Escape | Cake Tasting |
| April – The Last Flight by Julie Clark | Airport Dinner with a bag of 3 things we’d bring if we changed identities |
| May – First Lie Wins by Ashley Elston | Played Two Truths and a Lie |
| June/July – The God of the Woods by Liz Moore | Made Indoor S’mores |
| August – The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid | All wore green on an outing |
| September – One Tuesday Morning by Karen Kingsbury | Shared 9/11 Stories of Survivors and Victims |
| October – Regretting You by Colleen Hoover | Dinner and Movie Night |
| November – The Housemaid by Freida McFadden | Dinner and Movie Night |
| December – The Book Club Hotel by Sarah Morgan | Christmas Party |
| Selected Poems for National Poetry Month | Wrote poetry |
(Full Disclosure: Not all of us liked or would recommend all of these books to others – but in true book club spirit, we stayed the course and kept turning the pages).
In our first book of the year, a character was always making tea, so we visited a tea room for a Saturday morning brunch. At our party, we played the Left, Right, Across game with the story below (feel free to modify and use it for your own book club), and each of us took home a mismatched teacup and saucer in the bag that ended up in front of us. We played Mad Libs, had a wrapped book swap, and had a gift exchange as well, and we can’t wait to see what 2026 brings!
Don’t miss the photos of our book club through the year under the story.
A Book Club Christmas Party
It was the evening of the annual Christmas Dinner party as members of the book club arrived and settled in right on time for what was left of the day. Last spring, with books left over from a grant, they stacked their hands right together in a huddled pledge to read across the year. They’d started right away with The Beautiful and the Wild, Mother-Daughter Murder Night, and The Wedding People, which left them all wanting more adventures like tea parties and movie outings and even driving slap across the county to the airport with packed bags. They shared what they’d take with them as they sat across the table after reading The Last Flight. They even read across genres that included poetry. They had some books left, so they dove right straight into First Lie Wins, The God of the Woods – which they read across the summer months – and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, each reader thinking secretly of one or two of the books, “well, geez, that’s one I might have left out of the lineup” right before starting the next books ~ One Tuesday Morning, Regretting You, The Housemaid, and The Book Club Hotel. Eleven books across the span of the year, and here they were right at the table, celebrating all their different tastes in reading while gathering each month to read books they may have left out of their own lives except that they yearned to be right there discussing books together with their reading sisters, appreciating how their reading tastes, though often a mixed and mismatched bag, revealed all those moments of having just the right book at the right time because that’s what books do – they unify. Each realized, across the span of the year, that reading together is just the right medicine for the soul. In the perfect spirit of solidarity, they clinked their cups before heading right back home already dreaming of the next gathering, and as each guest left, they felt right at home in their book club family, where they fit snugly and belonged, as precious and interesting as fine mismatched china.
The Shadorma form is six lines, containing a syllable line count in this order: 3/5/3/3/7/5. To welcome December, I celebrate all those who are special in my life today – family, readers (that’s you), writing circles, book club, and friends who fill my life with warmth.
leaning in
pouring tea with friends
embracing
fireside warmth
this is how to live a life~
I got dressed for this!
After returning from an AI Summit in Denver, Colorado where we’d discovered a vacant lot full of playful, entertaining prairie dogs, our Teaching and Learning Department re-created the mascot for our upcoming professional development club that begins in January. We got the idea for the club from a team of teachers in Gwinnett County, Georgia who’d presented their voluntary PD club at the fall GACIS conference in Athens, Georgia in September. They are the BATS (Better At Teaching Strategies). We decided to be the BEES (Becoming Excellent Educators). We designed a bee logo and even ordered little bees as decor for our meetings. But then we saw those prairie dogs and considered their initials. P.D. We called one by its initials and realized we were calling him a given name – Petey.
Petey the Professional Development Prairie Dog. We liked it better than the bees. So the week before Thanksgiving, we spent some time with our Instructional Technologist designing our new mascot and creating an invitation to gather and garner interest on universal strategy topics. My team asked me to create a limerick for the invitation, so I created one to show that this form of Professional Development we plan to offer will be teacher-driven, not district-driven. We sent out a QR code on the invitation, promising snacks and fun, and we can’t wait to start this new club.
Here is our invitation:
I’m hoping that someone who is reading this may have a voluntary PD club in your school system. If so, I’d love to know your formats and structures of successful PD clubs. Please share and lend any expertise that would be helpful for us.
I had lunch with a couple of friends this week who are looking more forward to the holidays this year than ever before. They’ve cut out a toxic personality from their lives, and they say life has never been better. I celebrate them and share, with permission and in poetic form, their sentiments from our conversation. Sometimes holidays require us to consider our own mental health, and this year is that year for them. They’ve cut all ties and have moved on with their lives in healthier ways. I couldn’t be happier for them.
They say they don’t miss a dozen iterations of a
salad not even on the menu or
the barely audible low talk with fake
victim eyes, polished nails tapping a
coffee mug
they don’t miss
making plans they never wanted in the
first place or the never-ending reach for
attention or the Bible whippings from
a pious mouth-hole
or her.
They don’t miss
her.
They don’t miss all the presumptions or her
sickening fundie baby voice or the conclusive
expressions of the Dunning-Kruger con artist
or the mission that something needs to be
fixed and she’s the sole savior to do it.
No one misses her.
No one wants to fix her broken world.
They mostly see her as a mosaic of
toxic personalities, there
in a heap of jagged
edges just waiting to cut her next victim
this narcissistic it’s-all-about-me princess of her
own flying monkey fantasy kingdom
who is always, always the victim.
Common Threads 