Matt Forrest Esenwine is a New Hampshire-based author of a dozen children’s books and our host today for the third day of the October 2026 Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. You can visit the website and click on Open Write to read his full prompt.
Matt shares his process here:
Here’s all you do: pick an object, any object (most boring object ever – or not!), and begin thinking of ways to describe it. Once you have your list, scan through it and see what words/images/feelings you are drawn to. That’s your basis for your poem.
I’ve been decoupaging candles with pressed wildflowers lately – something my mother taught me how to do, and it keeps her memory close. I decided to write a haiku about the ones I have created. While I’ve been creating some flameless ones for my grandchildren from their birth month flowers to use as nightlights, I think smaller ones placed as seating card holders at a wedding reception would be a lovely wedding favor for guests to take home after gracing the tables with light during the gathering. They look wildly romantic, and the ones with faint pink take my breath away.
I used to love making pressed flowers for bookmarks and decoupaging plain white candles and decorative soaps when I was younger. My mother taught me how to take newspaper and fold it to match the pages of a heavy book and use that as a press. About six weeks later, we’d use tweezers to take the petals and stems and arrange them over a flat surface using Mod Podge. I think our hobby started back in the day when women carried hexagon-shaped wooden purses decoupaged in collage, with tortoise-shelled handles. Macrame purses were all the rage at that time too. As I was looking for some photos of the ones I’d possibly blogged about before, I did a quick search and discovered I had created a list of 50 things I planned to do in retirement from November 2024, and pressing wildflowers was one of them. How did I forget that list? Check it out here. The dream hasn’t changed much!
During the middle of last week, I called my sister in law to see about coming to get some zinnia clippings from her wildflower beds to press between old newspapers. Off I went, clippers in hand, and came home and pressed a paper sack full of greenery and flower petals I’d collected. In 2008, I participated in a teachers’ study along scientists doing research in the field in South Georgia, and I became the owner of my own plant press and field guide for the plant studies of native species. Still, I use newspaper and not the fancy acid-free white poster-thickness paper that we used throughout that summer in Americus, Georgia at the Jones Ecological Research Center.
For the first time, I’m pressing fresh basil, since a recent bouquet gift had an abundance of this fragrant herb. One thing that never changes: native Georgia ferns are my go-to greenery in any arrangement.
I’m marking my calendar for mid-November to check the plant press and create some decoupaged pillar candles for a Thanksgiving centerpiece. As we have lost mothers over the years, we light candles to remember them on Thanksgiving, and this year I have something other than the plain white tea lights in glass jars in mind. 🙂
Sensei Susan, me, and friend and fellow Mahj enthusiast Christian
I’ve never played pickleball, but I’ve heard that the craze is so fast and furious that new players kidnap all their friends and drive them to the courts, taking extra clothes and gear and even letting complete strangers use whatever equipment they need to join in the game with zero awareness of any rules as they walk onto the court all bewildered. There, they hand them a paddle and explain all about the kitchen and who can go into the kitchen and who should stay out of the kitchen and a hodgepodge of rules that sound like the Charlie Brown teacher to a bunch of head-scratching people who suddenly find themselves in a surreal moment they didn’t choose, pinching their forearms and wondering how they actually got there. And then, these same clueless people now caught up in the madness are the next wave of new players grabbing all their unsuspecting non-pickleball-playing friends the next week and bringing them back for an initiation into the cult sport.
That’s a lot like Mahjong, only with far fewer physical risks of injury for the older folks who do not need additional help finding the ground and suffering injuries. My husband’s father experienced this when he played pickleball and ended up with knee surgery and months of physical therapy. But where crossword puzzles and Sudoku have been the traditional seniors’ choice for cognitive exercise to stave off the inevitable decline of functional brain cells and memory, Mahjong emerged onto the American scene like an Asian tsunami across the globe and up through the cracked-earth dust of history straight outta ancient China and settled in the homes of women who are now going broke buying tablescapes and four-layered theme tiles they store in Michael’s clear lidded candy jars in the china cabinets where their great grandmother’s heirloom dishes used to be displayed. Husbands everywhere are begging: Please, someone, make it make sense! It’s like a CrackDragon tile walked up to the New York Times puzzle page and said, “Hold my beer.”
It’s true. The latest trend in real estate in Texas is the Mahjong room, and if a home doesn’t have one, the wife tells the husband she wants to “look further” for one that does. Because, well, ….the whole group of friends must have a place to play on proper precisely-measured square tables that doesn’t involve a flashmob-style takeover of a Chicken Salad Chick on a random Tuesday at 10 a.m. There are entire YouTube video series sessions that feature how to store mats by rolling or hanging, how to read the official NMJL card, and how to choose tiles based on size to fit your racks and pushers (which are, by the way, sometimes deliberately selected not to be all “matchy-matchy” with the tiles and mat and tablecloth and lamp and dice dish).
And let’s talk about trinkets. Most often they’re tiny ducks or other little pinkytip-sized animals that are collected as trophies upon a Mahjong win that is declared valid with no opposition from the players at the table who have checked the exposed tiles against the card. These ducks are sometimes kept in a little pouch, so when your sensei who taught you to play Mahjong and lives two and a half hours away is preparing to come for an afternoon of games and will “bring her bag of ducks,” you don’t have to read that twice. You understand there is no typo there.
Even more, you understand that what seemed illogical the summer before you learned to play the game now makes perfect sense. It’s gospel, yet it can seem like learning a whole new language in two humorous Mahjong 101 and 102 lessons. It can be deep and carry life lessons, like that scene in Crazy Rich Asians. Even Julia Roberts plays, and insists that the craze is about making order out of chaos because it’s not a gambling game, and it’s not a drinking game. Folks who were complete strangers in the grocery store and bookstore and at church a few months ago suddenly become best friends. These same folks will drive hours to play away an afternoon, and they’ll bring Mahj gear and give it to you as a gift, along with their bag of ducks. They will talk strategy and explain reasons for pivots, and everyone will eat snacks and laugh all afternoon and send each other YouTube videos on game strategies, tips, and obscure rules and, of course, all the things they are putting in their Amazon cart. You’ll understand that while winning is fun, it’s just as much fun to lose because there is no losing where there is so much fun that you don’t even realize your brain is exercising and that you might not be the extreme introvert you once thought you were.
You’ll thank the good Lord you didn’t wait another day to retire, because you look forward to each day you can play with new friends, old friends, and your sister in law across the farm. And you’ll feel sorry for all those pickleball players who think they’re all that and a bag of chips. Because you know the real truth about what a kitchen is for.
Bethany, Christian, and me – photo created by Christian
Our sensei brought these flowers and basil she grew in her own garden when she isn’t mowing grass in straight lines or playing tennis or teaching Mahjong
A lot goes into a Gotcha Day – for both a rescue organization and a family adopting a dog. And sadly, for those who make the choice to surrender a dog they can no longer care for – sometimes through no fault of their own, and sometimes because they are heartless. It’s not my place to judge either, but instead to open my heart to the little victims who do not understand why their circumstances have changed. I left early yesterday to drive to a dog park halfway between my home in Williamson, Georgia and a foster’s home in Canton, Georgia to meet and adopt a miniature Schnauzer who had been surrendered to a rescue organization here in Georgia a month ago. We met at Sweetwater Park in Austell to determine if this was the right match, and I followed her to Hickory Trails Park in Canton to sign the papers once I knew he would get along and that my current dogs would accept him as a brother. I was part of the matching service, where someone shares exactly what they want in a dog to the adoption organizer and they start the search for the perfect match.
They say your dog of today is sent to you by your dog of yesterday, and I believe it. I believe my Fitz got across the Rainbow Bridge and knew how badly my heart was aching. I grieved him properly, but I hung onto this: I’d adopted Fitz from Schnauzer Love Rescue as a mid-life miniature Schnauzer in the range of 5-8 years. Dogs that are classified as “senior dogs” are some of the most challenging dogs to rehome, and Fitz was no exception. Rescue organizations know that it is also much harder to adopt solid dark-colored dogs because they do not photograph as well for cute pictures. Fitz came to us with ailments ranging from bad teeth that would lead to painful CUPS (Canine Ulcerative Periodontal Syndrome) and a badly broken but healing leg they’d somehow managed to save and road rash, which indicated he may have been thrown from a moving car. I’d followed Fitz, named Henry at that time, throughout his journey with his foster mom, Nancy Delf of Cumming. She kept me updated at every turn until the day Fitz was ready to join our family. And when he was, I had no hesitation signing the dotted line and pouring my whole heart into loving my Fitzie. I knew he was long past puppy stage and that he would have a shorter time with us, but I also knew that I had the love I needed for the little black Schnauzer who would become my soul dog in a matter of weeks.
Boo Radley came before Fitz, and he had been abandoned in a duplex in McDonough, Georgia by a family who’d up and left, leaving him there with a supply of food and water. He was in rough shape for a one-year old Schnoodle when the landlord showed up and took him to a rescue organization. He was severely matted and trembling. They couldn’t even tell what kind of dog he was. I first saw him in the back of a van an hour after intake, and it broke my heart. To this day, he is tormented by flies who manage to slip in the front door of the house and he shakes like a leaf if a smoke detector goes into beep mode or he smells the heat of a toaster. I’m glad I don’t know his full history – – it might break me if I did.
And then there was Ollie, who came to us shortly after Fitz. He was a young stray on the streets of Cobb County, and his foster mom in Gainesville never knew he could bark until I’d sent her a video of us playing ball and him getting vocal with his demands that we throw it again in a timely fashion, his way of saying none of this dawdling between throws! This dog is serious about his play time.
Ollie on Gotcha Day in Gainesville, Georgia
Surrender stories always break my heart. My brother’s dog, Kasa, had been shot in the foot (probably trying to steal a chicken to eat) and was living under a trailer in someone’s driveway in my own county when the frantic call for rescue came. Ken had lost his beloved Feivel, and his heart was ready to love a dog again. A Brittany takes a diehard dog lover with all the anxiety of that breed (we didn’t know that at the time), but if ever there was anyone who was going to be able to give Kasa a good home, it was my brother Ken, and he loves her like a daughter dog. My late dad’s dog, Kona, was a divine gift from my mother in Heaven. I’d had the flu and was sleeping in the other room to avoid keeping my husband awake all night. A post in the wee hours of Valentine’s Day that year caught my eye between coughing fits and sleep. A school counselor in Florida going through a divorce had a 6 month old Schnoodle he needed a home for. When I met him halfway between our towns in the Walmart parking lot in Tifton, Georgia, he was wearing a Florida State University t-shirt: a sure sign from my mother in Heaven that this was her doing. Let’s face it: no one gets a 6 month old Schnoodle for free, and I’m half convinced that I was entertaining an angel unaware since the man never said one word to me during the entire exchange – – he merely wept and handed her over to me through the driver’s side window. My brother and I delivered her to our dad and told him he had 24 hours to decide whether to keep her, or I would come back and keep her as mine. And as he lay dying in the hospital years later, he called her next owner (not me) to his bedside to explain to his friend Ann that he wanted her to keep taking Kona to the dog park she visited everyday and to stay connected with all her dog friends on St. Simons Island. She tearfully accepted Kona, telling Dad, “I’ll take her, and I’ll always have a piece of you because of her.”
You can’t make these stories up.
Which brings me to the 6 year old male 13-pound Parti Schnauzer whose name is AJ. Another heartbreaking rescue story by someone who’d ultimately made the best choice for a family pet. A single mother of two sons who’d raised AJ and had both gone off to school called the rescue to say she was finally an empty nester and didn’t want the responsibility of a dog anymore; she’d rather travel, and the boys were done with the dog that she’d never considered hers – – it was theirs. And they’d moved on with their lives. Schnauzer Love Rescue stepped in and fostered the dog through all his needed vaccines and skin sensitivities, and as all that was happening, my conversation with the placement coordinator was also happening, describing the match I desired: I didn’t care about the gender or the color, I just wanted a miniature Schnauzer or Schnoodle that shared many of Fitz’s personality traits. I wanted one who’d gaze into my eyes and trust me enough to let me hold him upside down, who’d fall asleep against my chest and who’d follow me everywhere and need me when Boo Radley was in my husband’s lap and Ollie was curled up not needing anyone except to throw his ball and give him treats. I didn’t have to have a dog fast. I wanted the right dog at the right time. I didn’t see that dog on the current available dogs on the website, so the wait began.
An email came a couple weeks later. I was on the train in Blue Ridge with my husband and his brother and sister-in law for their birthday month trip to see the first of the leaves turning, and I looked down to see pictures of the match they’d made for me, with his ears perked and his nub of a tail. He was smiling just like Fitz, and his eyes resembled Fitz’s eyes in a kind of unbelievable way.
I knew it enough then to set up the meeting, but when I got there to meet him, there was a confirmation sign, this time from Dad. It wasn’t a Florida State University t-shirt. It wasn’t South Carolina Gamecock garb (my team). AJ was wearing a Felix-approved Georgia Bulldogs collar. Proof positive that this match may have had all the algorithms of the dog organizers, but also the Heavenly kiss from my parents that was even more important.
AJ on Gotcha Day in Canton, Georgia
TheAJ Email Came on a Train
there we were at our mountain rental
celebrating family times ~
on the train, the email came:
we’ve found your rescue match!
the wait is over
I’ve picked him up
Gotcha Day
happened….
{{{ love }}}
And on the first evening, he slept on my chest and napped upside down in my lap. I think Fitz tipped him off with insider information on how to get more treats.
I call Bethany my sister-in-law because what’s his is mine and what’s mine is his, and since she’s married to his brother, that makes her my sister in law too. When we saw that we would not be able to complete Part 2 of our Route 66 trip from Santa Monica to Albuquerque this year, we booked a quick weekend getaway to the mountains of North Georgia a couple of months ago to celebrate their birthdays this month. We’d flown to Chicago and rented a car to drive to Albuquerque and fly from Albuquerque back to Atlanta in June 2024, and we still talk about all the great memories we made on that trip. I can’t forget that coconut pie at the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas, but that’s an entire story for another day. And so we found a VRBO situated just outside Blue Ridge on a winding creek where we could relax and lower our blood pressure.
That’s why it was so meaningful yesterday when Bethany shared that she knew God had this weekend in mind, prompting us to plan the trip when we did, knowing we’d need to get away more now than ever. Things got real a couple of weeks ago when Kyle had a heart attack. When he’d picked Bethany up from the airport, he shared he wasn’t feeling well, and she’d recognized the symptoms. She took over the driving and took him straight to the hospital, where hours later, after his heart attack, the doctor showed them The Widowmaker images and assured them that they had done the right thing getting to the hospital when they did. Following surgery, he was released a few days later as good as new – even better, actually. Doctor’s orders were to take it easy for the next few weeks.
Nothing surprises God. He had Kyle in his hand, getting him to the hospital so he could be here to celebrate another birthday. Here in these mountains, we’ve eaten delicious foods, sipped coffee in the early morning, taken walks, and sat around talking and laughing as we’ve shared family stories by the fire. Today, we’ll ride the rails of the Blue Ridge Scenic Railway along the Toccoa River to see if we can spot the first leaves of fall turning their glorious colors. And we’ll each say a prayer of thanksgiving for the beauty of nature and the time together to enjoy it.
We’ve always heard the popular phrase, “Life is short. Take the trip. Buy the shoes. Eat the cake.” But when someone we love has a close call, you realize it’s not just some random saying on a t-shirt. It’s true. We get one wild and precious life, and the poet Mary Oliver had the right idea asking us what we were going to do with it. Today, we answer: we’re going to live it to the fullest and thank the Good Lord for the gift.
They waited on us while we shopped in Elegy
They stood on the bridge of the creek that ran behind our rental, Trout House, and watched for….trout!
When we drove a little over half of Route 66 in June 2024 with my husband’s brother and his wife, we took a lot of pictures. One theme emerged early into the trip: brothers on benches. Bethany and I would be shopping in a store or ambling along to check things out in the small towns along the way when one of us would suddenly spy the brothers deep in conversation on a nearby bench. We’d snap a photo just to timestamp the moments of our slow-paced trot across the nation, where the scenery changed by the minute but the desire to just sit and talk never did, no matter the GPS point.
Such is the case this weekend in the mountains of North Georgia on our getaway to celebrate Bethany and Kyle’s birthdays this month. The brothers are still finding benches, no matter where we go. And we’re still capturing the moments in pictures. It’s the conversation and not the landscape that remains the constant.
And God said, “Let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens to separate the day from the night. And let them be for signs and for seasons, and for days and years….
I think of things having an appointed time in the rhythm of life when I consider the verses in Ecclesiastes that are so iconic to seasons and turning.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
Rhythms and cycles play an important role in balance and harmony of living. Having a rhythm to each day, each week, each month is an important part of life, whether we are working or retired – rhythms are like schedules, habits, and time management. One of the first things I had to do in retirement was create new routines. A new prayer time topped my list, since my prayer chamber used to be my drive in to work and now that I’m not going there anymore, I needed a new designated time that would be consistent. I chose coffee time since there is a rhythm to that regularity and, to some degree, a consistent morning time frame – – and, like coffee, I need prayer at the top of the day. I have discovered in this new routine that I like to see steam rising from my mug as I say prayers, as if what is coming from my lips is swirling in a steam mist upwards to heaven in the quiet, relaxed rhythms of the morning.
HELLO! and HELP!
someone stranded
on a desert island
sends smoke signals
I send prayers
from the porch
fresh from my lips
vapors rising
to heaven
A special thanks to Ramona for hosting this month and inspiring us to think of the rhythms in our spiritual lives.
Here’s a secret I’ve been holding back: Dad left an unfinished manuscript, and it looks like it’s going to make it to print. For years, he’d been telling folks that he was working on a book. He shared snippets here and there of the plot line and the general story, rooted in the setting of a second home he and Mom owned along the Sapelo River down in McIntosh County.
At his funeral and visitation services in June 2025, many people asked what would become of the book. My brother and I searched his computer and found a few threads of story ideas for this book, but nothing more than a few scattered breadcrumbs. And then our good family friend Nick Doster, the last person to sit with Dad before he died and who brought him the Braves cap he’s buried in, produced an outline with story notes.
More like a piece of bread than a breadcrumb. But still far short of a loaf. Then, Nick offered to work with me to finish the book….which, really, felt more like starting the book by sowing the seeds of ideas and hundreds of tiny quilt squares together to see where the patterns emerged. Like me, Nick is always reading and writing. His most recent book is a western, and he has been talking with the screenwriters about a screenplay, which has consumed a lot of his time lately. Getting to retirement has consumed a lot of mine. So for about six months now, we’ve been working here and there, chatting on weekends and plugging in August as the time we’d get together to do our first productive round of editing of the whole manuscript.
The Bean in Eastman, Georgia was the halfway point for both of us, so we picked a day and met there. We took over the coffee shop and the free wifi yesterday to chisel away a few more steps toward the finish line. We’re still far from finished, but the fun of writing is another part of retirement that makes me happy. These large chunks of time to be able to write and think and edit are a great way to spend a day.
Today? A little more editing, a search for more comfortable swivel stools with backs for the Mahjongg table, a morning walk on the treadmill before it’s too hot, and a great movie my aunt recommended on Netflix for later this afternoon: Arthur the King. I’m so glad I didn’t wait to retire – – what a blessing to have the gift of time to spend the days doing what we love!
One of the things I’ve looked most forward to in retirement is an unhurried pace to be able to enjoy time together with family and friends with a sense of full presence and my mind not on a million other things I’ve got to get done. Since I have retired, that has happened more and more. I’m not checking the time as much. One day I even had to think about what day it was. That’s a nice feeling. It’s got me thinking about all those dementia checks they give older people by asking them what year it is. There might be better questions for that, since I think that one is a little biased against retirees. We don’t care, and we don’t want to keep up with those minor details anymore.
My husband and stepson
In the past week alone, we’ve met family members for meals and spent time around tables catching up on life and enjoying food and fellowship. We picked up a grandson and took him to Longhorn Steakhouse to talk golf, life happenings, and what he’s reading in school – The Crucible, and how the classic witch-hunt still happens. We have celebrated a birthday with my stepson two counties northwest of us and met my aunt and uncle an hour north of us for lunch because they’ve been hoping to see our RV and see how we set it up. We met my stepson at Il Porto Di Venezia in Senoia (where The Walking Dead was filmed) and found a parking lot with both a Panera and a Barnes and Noble (places to fill two appetites AND space to demonstrate setup of the RV for dry camping) to meet my aunt and uncle.
And besides all the time around tables with those we love, retirement offers the blessed gift of time to browse and pick the books I want to read next. I’ll be meeting Tayari Jones next month when she comes to a University of Georgia campus near me to talk about her latest book, Kin.
Yes, the unhurried pace is the best thing about retirement. Someone told me it would be sleep, but for me it’s the quality of the time awake that I get to enjoy in this chapter.
One of these will be my next book…..I’ll see the author in September at University of Georgia Griffin Campus for a book talk.
My post is later than usual this morning because I engaged in active birdwatching on Site 60 of Camp Margaritaville and got carried away. I can see why the birds all seem to flock to this place – it’s absolutely stunning, and gentle breezes blow balmy in the mornings across the water. The afternoons are a different story. More about that later in the week. We are here for one night for a concert, and it was fabulous. When you can’t always have The Eagles at The Sphere in Las Vegas, you can have The Long Run at Peachtree Pointe on Lake Lanier in Georgia.
We love to listen to all different kinds of music, but when it truly comes down to choosing a favorite, we’re Eagles fans. On days we are home and working around the house, we’ve got Pandora on the Eagles station, blasting it through Google Home as we work. If we’re traveling, same thing – it’s an Eagles station for us as we coast down the open road. We have our favorite songs, and even our favorite line from Take it to the Limit that will stop us in our tracks wherever we are, no matter what we’re doing, and where we’ll wait for that line and look to each other and answer “YES” after the question is asked: If it all fell to pieces tomorrow, would you still be mine??
We flew out to Las Vegas in February to see them perform at the Sphere, and that was as close to Eagles heaven on this planet as it gets. Nothing can touch that, but when I saw in our Georgia magazine that a tribute band, The Long Run, would be performing on Lake Lanier just a couple hours north of us and that the tickets were only $15 apiece to benefit the Georgia Mountain Food Bank, I snapped up two and booked a campsite at Margaritaville for a quick overnight getaway.
We set up on Site 60 and went exploring.
Boo Radley and Ollie loved the little trails leading to the lake.
We rented a golf cart to get to the concert, and I snapped this picture at dark on our way back.
This may be the most scenic outdoor concert venue in Georgia with boats covering the lake.
It was a beautiful evening, but we must go home today. We’ll stop and visit my Aunt Ann and Uncle Tom on the way through Atlanta. Uncle Tom, who turned 90 last December, has been itching to see the new RV and watch how we set it up. We can’t wait for some OK Cafe food and great company!
And we’re thinking of coming back in September for the magic of the Hot Air Ballon Fest. Check out Lake Lanier’s website and upcoming events here.
