The pink Christmas tree in one class I visited this week
I had the privilege of visiting three second grade classes this week as teachers in our system complete their Science of Reading modules required by the State of Georgia under its new legislation.
In the first class, one student asked, “Have you ever been in a classroom?”
That should have been my first sign.
I replied that I had, and it all started once upon a long, long time ago and lasted for many years.
She looked at me suspiciously, then asked with a hint of sass, “So you can handle us?”
Oh, the joys of second grade. They tell it like it is, and nothing gets left unsaid.
Forget any “Real Age Test” your insurance company has ever asked of you. There’s a real-er one, and here’s all you have to do: step into a primary school classroom for three hours. Three hours is all it takes to get yourself into real trouble, as any of the guests aboard the SS Minnow would remind us. Ironically, being shipwrecked on a desert island seemed it would be paradise by the time I slugged back out to the parking lot each morning.
How did I ever do this when I started teaching in the late 1990s with a full class of second graders, three children and a husband and so much laundry at home, when one played soccer on a travel team and we traveled most weekends as a family and stayed in hotels AND I didn’t have Clicklist at the grocery store where I could click my order in and pull up and wait for them to come running out with the cart and load me up?
How?
HOW??!!
This, my friends, is the Real Age Test. I passed with flying colors as someone who is really aged.
I slumped back into the driver’s seat, one building away from my office and allowed myself five minutes’ peace, hoping no one walked by and saw me in such a state. I wrapped my arms around the steering wheel and let my head rest on my forearms. I prayed. I prayed I hadn’t pulled a muscle bending over to sit down in the tiny chairs or, more likely, hefting myself up out of them. I prayed there were still 19 heads to be counted in the room I’d just left and that there were not a few running loose in the building somewhere and that I wouldn’t get a phone call shortly, asking about any missing children.
The Real Age Test. Like cheese, I’ve discovered my moldy edges and the holes I didn’t used to have. My denial has come to an end, and I have accepted that I am truly aged.
I feel it in my bones.
But I did take away a great compliment: when I was doing a read-aloud, they were mesmerized. They said, “You do it so good.” Apparently, I sparkle as a picture book reader. And that makes it all worth it.
Scrolling in search of the next book to read on an upcoming flight, my right thumb becoming numb, I came to a screeching halt on Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May.
This, I nodded approvingly to myself, thinking of all the exhausting change that 2024 has brought. This may be just the medicine my soul needs right now.
Many of the changes life has brought throughout the year are positive ones, but even good change requires a period of adjustment. The not-so-good changes, even more so.
I clicked the Kindle sample download and examined the Table of Contents, organized in chapters by the seven cold months of the year starting in October and ending in Late March. I read the reviews on Goodreads and delved into the sample text, asking at each decision point whether this would be the best investment of my time and cognitive energy – since both are forever fleeting.
After finishing the sample, I knew this was the book for me. I downloaded the full book.
I realize I’ve struck book gold when I find a book that has me hanging on each sentence, savoring its power and meaning as I apply it to my life and feel the peace it brings. Each thought, it seems, fits like a glove when I’ve found the right book for the right time. It’s like a medicinal salve, like Candy Cane chapstick on parched lips whipped sick by the wind.
All at once, my breathing deepens and my heart slows from its racing pace. I feel my tongue stop pressing against the roof of my mouth in its usual stress-pressure position. My shoulders drop and my neck muscles loosen. I read May’s soothing words as I consider the approaching winter break:
“Winter is when I reorganize my bookshelves and read all the books I acquired in the previous year and failed to actually read. It is also the time when I reread beloved novels, for the pleasure of reacquainting myself with old friends….In winter, I want concepts to chew over in a pool of lamplight—slow, spiritual reading, a reinforcement of the soul. Winter is a time for libraries, the muffled quiet of book stacks and the scent of old pages and dust. In winter, I can spend hours in silent pursuit of a half-understood concept or a detail of history. There is nowhere else to be, after all.”
And in this, I can rest with full hope and anticipation that the gas logs and my heated throw will bring needed warmth. My dogs will bring peace and deep comfort as they vie for snoozing position next to me, and my books will bring the golden silence and space my heart needs as I sip a cup of honeyed hot tea and reread: …. there is nowhere else to be, after all.
My next book will be Calm Christmas by Beth Kempton. What will you be reading, dear friend, in the sweet, snug nook of home, in the nestled bliss of nowhere else to be?
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Please link your blog posts in the comments below, and thank you for reading today!
On Saturday, we picked up the dogs from the kennel. They’d been there for over a week, and we don’t think they sleep very well there with all the barking and the stress of the other dogs who are strangers to them. We believe this because every time we pick them up, they sleep the rest of the day and straight through the night once we bring them back to the comfort of their home.
It’s a lot like how we feel when we come home from a trip. We can let down and truly relax. All our stuff is back where it goes, and we are no longer living out of a carry-on suitcase.
Our dogs are spoiled, and used to a quiet space where they lounge in our bed all day and eat kibble soaked in bone broth. They pile up in our laps or on the back of our chairs, stretching their front legs around one side of our neck and their back legs around the other, functioning essentially as a living fur scarf and warming us from the inside out.
One of them, Ollie, has no upbringing whatsoever – – he will walk right across the end table to get from one of us to the other as we sit in our family room chairs. He is often seeking his place, because he arrived in our family as a “guest dog” after my grandson visited and wanted to know which of our two dogs was going to sleep with him in his bed. Fitz is invisibly tethered to me, and Boo Radley does not stray far from my husband. Ollie, a young stray schnoodle offered to us by the rescue when two other families walked away, joined our family after being found as a young stray on the streets of Gainesville, Georgia. He is the perfect “guest dog,” simply wandering between us, happiest when someone is throwing his ball to him.
The quiet comfort and peace of home is the best part of the Johnson Funny Farm, but it would not be this blissful without the dogs here with us. They add such character, such love, such personality, such humor – and such predictability – to our lives. They know their routine.
When I rise, earlier most days than my husband, they wait in bed for me to use the restroom and wash my hands. Once I come out, they are on their way down the bed steps, heading to the door for their turn.
Out we go for the first quick outing, into the dark of the morning no matter what time of year it is, and they handle their business quickly before coming back inside – back to bed on work days, to wait for me to finish my shower. Once I head to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and begin writing, though, two will saunter in and reposition themselves – Boo and Ollie – while Fitz finds his toy turtle and burrows under the bed covers until time for the second outing of the morning.
I think what I love best is the weekends, where they know we are going nowhere and that the day will be spent at home with them, belonging to each other in the way that dogs and their people do when they’ve bonded.
There is no other peace felt as deeply, at least for me, as the complete and total togetherness of being home with our boys.
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers at Slice of Life
Opportunities for writing are waiting for us if we only look for them!
I stopped by the Boston Writing Project’s Drop-in Writing Station at the NCTE Convention, and I was immediately captivated by a large tree with colorful poetry hearts filled with verse proclaiming the convention theme: Heart, Hope, and Humanity. As with most conferences, I was between sessions, hoping to get a seat in the next place while still wanting to sit and write – so I did the next best thing. I’d composed a pile poem in an earlier session led by Sarah Donovan and Stefani Boutelier, so I wrote the poem on the heart and placed it there on the tree. It is a pile of blessings, and this one is read from bottom to top. Here is my pile poem from a Saturday morning NCTE session:
On Thanksgiving Day, I saw another tree just waiting to be filled with words of gratitude. This one was at the Plimoth-Patuxet Museum as we shared a Thanksgiving meal with those visiting the museum to take part in their traditional meal narrated by the chief historian, who shares the history of the holiday. Here is my leaf and the tree.
The leaves filled out throughout the day. I wish I had taken a picture when we stopped by later to read all the leaves that had been added.
I love these kinds of invitations to share responses and writing. It reminds me that everyone is eager to write and to share if the opportunities are presented in fun and engaging ways.
On the final full day of the NCTE Convention in Boston, I gave myself permission to attend a half day and take a half day to explore Boston with my husband on his first visit to this iconic city. In 2005, I’d summered just 20 minutes from Boston in Milton, Massachusetts, where I’d stayed on the campus of Curry College doing research as part of a graduate degree program. I’ve visited a few times since, most recently in 2022.
So
much
has
changed!
Since the weather was cold and rainy and we were woefully wardrobe-unprepared, we decided to catch the Old Town Trolley tour and sit back and relax, listening to the history as we rode in the heated bus. I purchased tickets online and added them to my Apple Wallet, jumping on at Stop 15: The Boston Convention Center.
The sign doesn’t fully tell the story. You have to add the wind.
Thank goodness for a heated tour bus.
Faneuil Hall, one of my favorite places in Boston – I purposely didn’t edit the photograph, because I love the spaciousness of Boston and all the old bricks.
My husband had walked the Freedom Trail the day before, but the Old Town Trolley gave us a narrated history of many more landmarks.
We went in for a late lunch without a wait. We ate enough that we were too full for supper, and we shared our meal.
The Union Oyster House is directly across from the Holocaust Memorial.
Someone at our table enjoyed a Samuel Adams lager, sheerly for the nostalgia.
New England Clam Chowdah
When in Boston, one should sample the Boston Baked Beans.
We shared an Oyster Roll.
The Union Oyster House has its window decorations up, and I snapped a quick photo of this miniature replica of the UOH decorated for Christmas, with the Holocaust Memorial in the reflection of the window. This may be my favorite photograph I took on the tour.
Changing leaves
I believe my favorite part of the tour was the changing leaves. There’s nothing like New England in the fall, with all its vibrant colors and crisp air.
Boston’s Seaport District at night
When you leave town without enough warm clothes, you find a new sweatshirt to help you remember that time you ate in the nation’s oldest continuously operating restaurant……
We asked Zoomies, where we board our dogs, to please share a report card and a couple of photos of the boys with us while we were gone, since we knew we would be missing our four-legged sons terribly. While boarding, they were to have groomings as well.
We had no idea they would be taking Christmas pictures while we were gone, so imagine our delight when we got these precious pictures of our three rescue schnoodles the day before Thanksgiving! We wanted to share them with you, too, so that you could see their expressions. (We’ll translate for you what each is thinking):
This is how it’s going for our boys at the kennel:
Fitz: “ I can’t wait for Santa! I’m a good boy, and he will have a treat for me. Let me smile big for my Christmas picture and show off these old teeth I keep losing before they’re all gone.”
Fitz, named for F. Scott Fitzgerald
Ollie: “Let me pose like the spoiled, dignified dog that I am, the kind that might have a jar of Grey Poupon handy in case anyone ever asks. I’ll behave just right for this festive Christmas photo, since I have just been groomed to perfection. Maybe someone will see the look in my eyes and want to throw my ball for me to chase. I’ll just go ahead and put my front legs in the ready position to run after it.”’
Ollie, named for the late, great poet Mary Oliver
Boo Radley: “This is b#ll$h!t!”
Boo Radley, named for a character in To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Cheers for the holiday spirit, and for all the Christmas pictures that will be made over the coming weeks, and a full license to embrace the truth of whatever the camera captures. We are still laughing at their personalities. Our Christmas Dogs. Oh, the joy they bring.
After traveling the final leg of our loop around New England on Wednesday afternoon from West Chesterfield, New Hampshire to Plymouth, Massachusetts, we visited the Plimoth-Patuxet Museum sites on Wednesday and Thursday. Our first stop was to Plymouth Rock, and our second was to the Mayflower II. At these exhibits, we learned a little more about the history of the voyage the Pilgrims made – the risks they took and the price they paid.
Realistic role-playing Pilgrim
On Thursday, we visited the Pilgrim colony and shared in the Thanksgiving Dinner right in the area where the first Thanksgiving dinner was held. We were pleased that a historian was sharing the history with us so that we could hear accurate accounts from primary sources. We were also impressed that the Pilgrim village was created with historical accuracy, with role-playing realistic Pilgrims who go about their village and house chores while inviting questions and observations from visitors. We even saw a real goose being cooked on a spit and a mother Pilgrim teaching her son some culinary skills.
A mother teaches her son culinary skills ~ note the goose fat dripping from the spit.
The Pilgrims spoke with the accents and language of their time, and answered any questions from those witnessing their chores and conversations.
This pilgrim is describing how they kept the fire burning.
I entered one of the homes to find a young man seated by the fire wearing a tan vest and keeping warm. It was miserably cold and raining on this Thanksgiving holiday as we walked outdoors bundled up with umbrellas, thankful we both had waterproof shoes. I told him I thought he had the best seat in the house. He asked if I had any questions.
“Just one,” I replied. “Did anyone ever feel safe?”
He rubbed his chin for a moment, considering this before responding, “What a question!”
After a pause, he replied that they did feel safe, because their strong faith in the Lord depended on their ultimate faith in him, and whatever consequence brought about was by His provisioning.
Satisfied, I thought about the 2-month voyage that they had taken across the Atlantic Ocean – risking it all in the name of religious freedom – and concluded that he was probably right. He seemed to be answering from the perspective of safety of belief, whereas my question was more from a physical context in terms of Native tribes and wild animals, having seen the guns and cannons in the meeting house that afforded lookout-level views outside the gated village.
“Did anyone ever feel safe?” is the question I asked of this colonist.
At 2:30, we found our table with our place cards and met the others who would be seated at our table. There were three other couples and two children eating with us. After some introductions, we began sipping our cider and passing the plate of cheese, crackers, and grapes as appetizers. Our meal menu was inspired by the 1863 Thanksgiving meal served to students at Harvard University. In the museum, there is a timeline and display that sequences the progression of the Thanksgiving meal from the 17th century to today, along with the types of dishes and utensils that would have been used at each meal.
Visitors have two options for the Thanksgiving meals served at Plymouth-Patuxet Museum. The choices include a buffet meal served at The Craft House or a plated meal with formal dining served in the Visitor Center. The formal dinner includes The Story of Thanksgiving, told by the chief historian as a narrative along with a member of the Wampanoag tribe and a Pilgrim descendant. This is the meal we chose, simply because with so much controversy often surrounding this holiday, we wanted to seek understanding of the facts from a historian’s explanation of what really happened. The reading of the land honorarium was a meaningful part of the meal, along with the customary toast given.
My plated meal before I added cranberry sauce to go with the dressing hiding under the turkey
The customary toast, given by the chief historian at Plimoth-Patuxet Museums
After a traditional toast before dessert, the museum had one more offering in store for Thanksgiving guests. Even though we had planned to get on the road back to Boston at the conclusion of our meal, we took advantage of the opportunity to see Wicked at the Linn Theater at 4:30 before making the drive to Boston to turn in our rental car and check into our room for the night.
The later arrival into Boston was more than worth making the time to see the movie! Already, we are talking about the next time we can go back and enjoy more of New England.
But nothing……nothing……not one thing……compares to arriving back home. A great vacation, for us, is one that we don’t want to end – while at the same time looking forward to being back in our own space, back in our own bed. It’s one that cultivates a deep appreciation for other places and people while at the same time making us more grateful for our own little corner of the world and our strong sense of belonging we feel in it.
So from my writing chair this morning, by my own fire with its modern gas logs that simply require me to push a button to feel the warmth and see the light of its flames, I wish you all the adventures of travel and the comforts of home.
Breakfast table at The Chesterfield Inn in New Hampshire
It’s my brother’s birthday today, so I’m wishing him a happy one! He’s a wonderful brother, and I’m so glad he’s mine! Happy birthday, Ken Haynes!
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We’ve said it so many times on this trip: we’d like to come back and spend more time in certain spots. The Chesterfield Inn in West Chesterfield, New Hampshire is one of those places ~ the historic inn feel, complete with a relaxing 16-year-old cat named Yoda who runs the place. He reminds us of how we feel like we’re moving about now on this trip.
Apples at Bolton Orchards
We stopped at Bolton Orchards to get some apples as a snack, and as we crunched on the crisp sweetness, we also said that as much as we say we want to come back, we have to make the time to do it. Travel doesn’t just up and happen on its own, because most of the time I’m feeling more and more like Yoda these days ~ just give me a chair and let me nap while I hope someone will come along and scratch between my ears.
So with firm resolve, we decided a couple of things:
We’ll plan for next year’s trip once we get home; and
We will make it less than a week (four days with a day’s rest on the returning end seems the sweet spot) ~ we are exhausted.
We also have figured out that we like to fly and ride. We’re less apt to cruise at this point, like we used to do. Cruising is nice, but it’s not what Chaucer described as the travel we like best. We like to see the landscape from the wagon and share the stories on the way to the Tabard Inn. Our next trip will involve a plane and a car, because the changing flavor from place to place (and mostly, in between) is not to be missed.
Here are a few photos from a more touristy spot, but one rich with history.
We’re flying home today, from Boston to Atlanta. I’ll share our visit to Plimoth-Patuxet for the Thanksgiving Dinner in a post over the weekend.
Us with The Mayflower II in the background
Plymouth Rock
Mayflower II
The John F. Kennedy Memorial on Cape Cod
Sangria at The Black Cat Tavern on Cape Cod. One of us needed it.
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.
Common Threads 