Last-Minute Shopper

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do not wait until

Christmas Eve to go gift shop

your mother was right~

your luck has run out

I planned and finished my list

and you had one job

she shakes a finger

from her buffet in Heaven

bites into dessert

A Calm Christmas: Comfort and Joy in Winter

This December, I’m slowly making my way through Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year by Beth Kempton (2019), and in Chapter 3, she presents ways to seek comfort and joy in winter by seeking our natural rhythms and learning from nature.

She shares her experience searching for deer with her father when she was nine years old, hoping to capture photographs of them at dawn when all the rest of the world was still sleeping. Through this experience, she is certain that she finds her spirit animal and holds to the belief that the fallow fawn shares secrets that lead to discovery and strength, even still through the memories she made that day.

Another reflection she shares is her rhythm of childhood winters, with such predictability that there is great comfort in the daily routines and patterns of familiarity – getting dressed by the heater, pressing her nose against the window of the toy store, eating porridge each morning, caroling, bedtime stories. What can seem humdrum has roots of dependability in the knowing that things are the way they are and taking a deep sense of certainty in the simple, mundane living of days.

Kempson writes in Chapter 3, “At this time of year, it’s natural to slow down, prune our lives of extraneous details, reflect on past events, and tend our hearts, minds, and bodies so we are ready to flourish again.” There’s a quietness to the process. To contemplate our winter rhythms, Kempton encourages us to find a still, quiet place and think about what brings us comfort and joy at this time of year, and throws in a glimmering question to chew on: what would radical winter wellness look like for you?

Radical winter wellness – what a concept! At first thought, a cup of steaming hot tea with local honey and fresh lemon come rushing to mind. Long walks with the dogs across the farm, breathing plenty of fresh air deep into the lungs seems like ultimate wellness also, along with simmering soups chock full of fresh vegetables with bright orange carrots just right. Zesty navel oranges and cinnamon oatmeal with brown sugar, and quiet moments of reading by the fire all proclaim wellness, too.

And radical wellness for the mind. That is found in a stack of delightful reading and a crossword puzzle – and I’ve ordered a calendar with them so I have a short puzzle each day to chew on – – a mini crossword like a small piece of chocolate from a candy jar – just enough to satisfy. Just enough to bring comfort and peace.

A Unique Experience: Grub Street in Boston’s Seaport

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.

Traveling to Boston for NCTE: Departure and Arrival

Water Taxi from Airport to Hotel – in Boston Harbor -it’s the best way to arrive in Boston in warm months (note to self: it’s cold and windy on the water in November)

yesterday we came

to the big city: Boston

but our hearts are home

Nothing grounds me, pulling on my rural roots and centering my belonging more than putting on my sweatpants, wrapping up in a jacket, and throwing on my dew-proof duck boots for a walk with the dogs in November on the Johnson Funny Farm, one hour south of Atlanta, Georgia but as rural as Little Red Riding Hood’s deep woods with all the mystery. I smell the wet earth of morning wafting up from beneath the pine straw, see the falling leaves and misty haze through the thicket, and hear the lone woodpecker overhead, calling to us from the towering Loblolly pines. I’ll carry the country silence of my Sunday morning walk with the boys close to my heart all week as we travel. I’ll miss them, and I will pull up these blog photos below many times while I’m away. The one with Ollie trying to be a stowaway will bring tears by the end of the weekend.

I know that there is much to look forward to in the city beyond the NCTE Conference, where I, along with my writing group, will be presenting our latest series of books for teachers on Thursday. We’ll see the nation’s history unfold along the Freedom Trail if the weather permits, and from there, following the NCTE Convention, we’ll explore several New England states and share Thanksgiving Dinner at Plimoth Plantation as we see The Thanksgiving Story come to life on stage.

As we share in our love of travel, though, there is nothing that compares to coming home. To being home. To belonging, and to feeling the sanctuary of our space here in rural Georgia with our three rescue schnoodles – Ollie, who walks with his nose up, sniffing the air all around him, Fitz, who walks with his nose to the ground, sniffing what has been there before him, and Boo Radley, whose nose and eyes are always directly ahead so that he doesn’t miss a thing. It seems silly, really, to have to walk these boys on a leash in all this space, but out here we never know what wildlife we’ll encounter, and they are prone to chase everything from deer to cattle and donkeys that get loose from nearby pastures. We don’t take any chances.

As we fly out on this work conference and extended adventure, it is comforting to know that our return ticket will bring us right back where we belong.

This is what country folks look like when we take walks on the farm.
Noses: on ground, in air, straight ahead
A few sounds of the country
Ollie confirms that his people are leaving on a trip and looks for space to fit in
Sharing dinner before the conference frenzy begins (From L-R: Tammi Belko, Dawn Lanca-Potter, Kim Johnson, Sarah Donovan, Leilya Pitre, and Denise Krebs at Layla’s American Tavern, Boston)
Sarah Donovan and me – Sarah’s writing group at http://www.ethicalela.com saved my life as I struggled with grief over the death of my mother in 2015. And we’ve been writing ever since.

My Retirement List 21-30 of 50

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I’m taking the week to write list poems of all the things I’ll do when I retire. They say we should never retire from something, always to something. So I’ll retire to some work and some play, but I want to steer the wheel and throw away the clock. This is day 3 of 5 that I’ll list ten things I’ll do when I am officially off contract for life.

First, a review of the past two days:

  1. I’ll write into the day.
  2. I’ll visit the library twice a week to check out new books.
  3. I’ll read into the evening by the fire, dogs in my lap.
  4. I’ll shop at the farmer’s market for fresh fruits and vegetables.
  5. I’ll cook things fresh-grown and scrubbed clean.
  6. I’ll take morning walks with the dogs, strolling instead of hurrying.
  7. I’ll make pictures and put them on calendars and notecards.
  8. I’ll pick wildflowers.
  9. I’ll put the picked flowers in the flower press.
  10. I’ll make bookmarks with my pressed flowers.
  11. I’ll savor my coffee, linger longer before showering.
  12. I’ll meet friends for lunch.
  13. I’ll design patterned rag quilts.
  14. I’ll cut flannel quilt squares and stitch them in rows.
  15. I’ll go to sleep when it’s dark and awaken when it’s light.
  16. I’ll wash my dishes by hand in warm water with fragrant dish soap.
  17. I’ll bake fresh, healthy muffins for breakfast.
  18. I’ll volunteer to drive someone to a doctor’s visit.
  19. I’ll make a big pot of soup every few weeks to freeze and give to shut-ins.
  20. I’ll pick my own apples in North Georgia.

And now today’s list:

21. I’ll take more impromptu personal field trips to satisfy my curious adventure spells.

22. I’ll coordinate my wardrobe down to the kind where all the tops match all the bottoms and all the outfits have three shoe possibilities – and pretty much ditch the rest to live more simply.

23. I’ll go on writing crawls, writing in first one place and then the next through the day.

24. I’ll attend more book festivals near me and listen to more regional authors speak.

25. I’ll sit in Starbucks and write just for the crooner music and the perfectly-lit ambience.

26. I’ll carry only a small crossbody bag with my driver’s license, some money, and a tube of Candy Cane chapstick that I buy by the box.

27. I’ll sit on my front porch and pray.

28. I’ll learn more about making salves and tinctures, and take a hobby class on it.

29. I’ll wrap all my wine bottles with twine to create vases and fill them with wildflowers and leave them on random doorsteps where they don’t have Ring cameras to catch me.

30. I’ll take more slow country drives at sunset to see the sun sinking below the fenced cattle meadows.

September Fades Haibun

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September waves goodbye today, its last day of 2024, when many in Georgia are cleaning up from a storm and heading back to work after power outages. Tomorrow will be the first day of the last quarter of the year, Halloween a few weeks away, then Thanksgiving a few weeks from then, and Christmas a few weeks from then, before 2025 arrives with its own year of life ahead.

lighting fall candles

leaves falling, swirling, turning

welcoming autumn