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 EvePancake 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
Little Ollie is the baby dog of our three schnoodles, all rescues. He has more poodle and less schnauzer, whereas Fitz has more schnauzer and less poodle. Boo Radley is the truest 50/50 blend. Ollie happened when my grandson visited and both our dogs piled in our bed with us at bedtime.
Which one can sleep with me? he’d asked.
Neither Boo Radley nor Fitz was about to sleep anywhere other than with us, so my grandson pleaded his case. Nana, you need a guest dog.
We’d been looking for another rescue since my father ended up with Kona, the 6-month old female schnoodle puppy we’d found needing a home in Florida. We drove to Valdosta to meet the one surrendering her, and I so badly wanted to keep her. But Dad, too, needed a dog in all his grief, and Kona brought him so much joy.
With rescues, you never know what might be lurking beneath the surface – emotionally with trauma or physically with health. Certain breeds have predispositions to particular illnesses and conditions. Poodles, for example, have sensitive skin and often itch, needing a spray of apple cider vinegar. Boo Radley’s stomach gets inflamed like that. Each of our dogs has some trauma in their background, too, making a home without children present most of the time a preferred home for them.
Fitz has had more issues than both of the others, combined. He came to us from a foster mom who had nursed him back after a badly broken leg (with road rash) that the vet managed to save. Then he had a cyst on his back that needed removing. Then he developed CUPS ~ Canine Periodontal Ulcerative Syndrome, a condition that causes painful gum ulcers on reaction with the plaque on his teeth. His breath smells like a rotting goat carcass when it flares up, but we keep right on loving him through his pain and maladies. And that is what it takes with all dogs, but particularly with rescues. Unconditional love for the long haul.
Which brings me to Ollie. What we thought was a breed-common poodle allergy settling in the eyes got more pronounced and didn’t clear up after a few days as his normally did. One eye started looking like it had a whitish film over the top, making him look like a blind soothsayer in a Shakespeare play. I called the vet and got the first available appointment the next day.
The vet took one look, and I saw his brow furrow. He seemed perplexed.
Step around here so you can see, he urged. I stepped around the young vet technician holding Ollie in place so Dr Kelly could do his work.
There’s an auto immune eye condition that affects German Shepherds called Pannus that causes this same whitening with blood vessels over the cornea, he explained. Usually, though, that one forms from side to side. This one is forming top to bottom in both eyes.
When it came time for the diagnosis, Dr. Kelly gave me the choice of going straight to the Veterinary Ophthalmologist or treating the condition as he would treat Pannus and see if it would respond. Before I made my decision, I asked if there was any chance that whatever this was could be contagious. He assured me it would not affect the other dogs. I was in great part relieved that we would not have to quarantine Ollie (he despises being alone), and I also was relieved that boarding him for an upcoming trip to my grandson’s first birthday, though not preferred, was not out of the question.
I decided to try the Pannus eyedrop regimen to give it a chance to respond. Four drops a day in each eye, with a recheck in four days. I booked a dog-friendly AirBNB for our upcoming trip and decided to cut the adventure shorter than I normally would have done.
And the drops began that day. The next morning, there wasn’t much change. By the following day, we could see a break in the clouds. By Monday afternoon at 1:00, we had a different dog. His eyes were open and the film and vessels had receded back up into the top of the eye. He was chasing his ball again – – and actually finding it.
Although we will probably have to keep him on eyedrops for the rest of his life, we’re relieved that our guest dog is going to be okay. When we adopted Ollie, on Gotcha Day, the foster mom told us that three other families had come to see him and had walked away. I don’t know what they saw that we didn’t see, but I am thankful that we saw something they didn’t. A dog who needed love, and a family there to welcome him with the hearts to give it.
Gayle Sands of Maryland is our host today for the third and final day of the January 2025 Open Write. She inspires us to write holiday versions of the viral I Am poem, a template for which you can find here. You can read her full prompt, mentor poem, and the poems of others here. There is a whole movement that emerged from this poem, and the I Am Project page can be found here.
Haynes Homestead Holidays
I am from the sequined felt stockings
of oranges, nuts, and candy cane dreams
From Life Savers Story Books that weren’t at all and a
red-headed Chrissy doll in an orange dress
but never that Lite Brite I wanted
I am from the Island Padre’s pastorium
under the Live Oaks with a round disc tree swing
the one with the brick fence
and a chalkboard in the back yard
for playing school with stolen chalk
I am from the daylilies no one ever saw
and the oleanders I feared would kill the dog
from the ever-blooming Christmas cactus
generations deep
until I killed it
I’m from Christmas Eve Candlelight Services
from singing Silent Night in a congregational circle
in the dark, cold churchyard
From Joneses and Hayneses
one side complete chaos, the other complete order
from junk drawers galore to every spare nail and screw in its place
I’m from the silver tinsel tree
with Sears Wishbook presents wrapped in Santa paper
and fruitcake cookies we pretended to like
from high noon resentment
and questions that weren’t meant that way
I’m from driftwood and oyster shell Nativity sets
from going with the flow to cloistered
I’m from deep South Georgia roots I’m glad I escaped
preferring mountains over islands and choices I never had
From Lowcountry boil with Old Bay on Christmas Day
From the preacher granddaddy taking candy from a lady
on Bourbon Street trying to pray with her
to the other granddaddy I caught nipping from the bottle in the garage
From the uncle drunk in a train wreck who lived to see jail
from seven storage rooms of too much stuff I never want to see again
.
………except maybe those cereal box California Raisins
the ones that stood proudly on Noah’s Ark
when the kids played Save the World, those raisins
Mona Becker of Maryland is our host for the second day of the Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. Today, she inspires us to write haiku poems. You can read her poems and those of others, along with the full prompt, here. If you have a few moments, write a poem and share it today!
Gayle Sands of Maryland is our host for the first day of the December Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to use photographs to inspire poems today. You can read her full prompt, along with the poems of others and their responses, here.
Gayle inspires us to walk into a photo and to be present in the photograph in some way—as a bystander, as one of the individuals in the photo, or as someone coming upon the scene. She says, “Use the photo as your starting point and open your senses. What do you see and/or hear? Is there something you can taste or smell? What sensations do you feel? Is there any movement? What thoughts come to your mind as you engage with the photo? Vintage photographs are a good source of inspiration.”
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 herein 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!
My cousin Elizabeth, center, with us and her parents – my Aunt Ann and Uncle Tom
As far back as I can remember growing up, my dad’s only sister, Ann, has been an active part of my life. She married Tom Downing before I turned one, and they have been there through it all ~ birthdays, holidays, weddings, graduations, and funerals. Aunt Ann can shop for me better than I can shop for myself. She has an eye for putting together an outfit, and she has done this for me and for my grandchildren on several occasions. When my mother died, sisterless herself, she’d phoned Ann with a request before she left this earth.
“Be there for Kim when I’m gone,” she’d asked of my aunt. “She’s going to need you. You know why.”
It didn’t take me long to figure out why I would be spending hours each week on the phone with her. She was the only one who could help me navigate my dad, her brother, who didn’t particularly care for strong women. He was all for women in leadership roles – until they tried to lead him anywhere, and trying to help my dad in his later years would take strength and something I lack when my patience runs out: tact. And so Aunt Ann, always a strong Southern woman to the core and dripping in class, carries the torch as the voice of wisdom whenever I need to talk. She helped me through those final years with Dad, who did not know how to do life without my mother and swore off help from anyone until the bitter end. I could not have survived without my Aunt Ann to lean on.
When my cousin Elizabeth called to invite us to Uncle Tom’s 90th birthday this past Saturday, my husband and I made the drive to their home in Ashford-Dunwoody in Brookhaven, just north of Atlanta, to be part of the festivities. We were blessed to be part of that day, sharing in the memories and the moments of belonging as family. In the midst of the holiday season, with this being the first Christmas without Dad after losing him in June, these times seem to carry more weight. As I walked through their house, each room brought back such memories of all the years there for various events, and I felt the shadow of my childhood self playing games on Thanksgiving Day in the basement while the men watched football and the women cooked. The moments of today carry far more layers of meaning as I return to their home, the place of old pictures and relatives long gone now. Ann and I stood on her front porch for a few moments alone together, remembering the space where we’d all stood smiling as Uncle Tom brought his camera for photos, the space now every bit as sacred as the circle at the Grand Ole Opry, preserved through the years and taken into the newer building just to keep the same floor where the stars have all stood.
We wish Tom a very happy birthday, and cheers to the years ahead and all the years behind along the journey that brought us to now.
it all matters more
today than ever before
these crossroads of life
Aunt Ann’s porch of family pictures through the years
Common Threads 