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
Come sit right here by me if you’re a reader. Settle in, pour a cup of coffee, and let’s have a book chat. I want to hear what stories have kept you reading this year, and how your reading has inspired new adventures.
I’ll go first. Right now, I’m reading Not Quite Dead Yet by Holly Jackson, which will be the January 2026 pick for our Kindred Spirits book club. It has me on the edge of my seat at every new twist and turn. I especially like that the setting is taking me back to our trip to Woodstock, Vermont in November of 2024, where we had one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever had in my life, complete with Vermont maple syrup that was made from the trees on the property where we were staying. A friend and member of the Kindred Spirits book club recommended Woodstock as a stop on our trip after NCTE last year, and we used her exact trip itinerary from a trip she’d taken with her daughter in planning our own. While my husband and I were in Woodstock, we took some time to go exploring a few back roads while we were there, and I have some of the setting assigned to places we saw, such as the famous bridge. It’s hard to imagine that a crime like the one in this book could happen there, but where there are humans, there will be crime. This book inspired me to wrap up in a blanket I bought from the Vermont Flannel Company while I was there and to pull up the photos from that amazing trip and add them to the new digital photo frame my daughter sent us for Christmas. Oh, to go back there!
The Kindred Spirits dive into exciting fiction, and this group tends to gravitate toward thrillers. Once we’ve finished reading a book, we plan some sort of adventure to go along with what we have read so that we allow our reading to inspire new discoveries. You can see our reading choices and adventures from 2025 here. We’ll be meeting December 19 to put the first six months of our 2026 list together. I’d like to ask for your favorite book recommendations. Please help us out ~ which books have you read recently that you savored, and what made you fall in love with them? Also, have you ever been part of a reading retreat where everyone reads a few books and then drives an hour or two to a mountain lodge for a weekend to talk about those books, read more books, sit by the fire, eat delicious food, visit a spa, and shop in the stores on the town square? We’ve heard of those retreats and are thinking of trying one sometime this year, so we’re all ears for your most exciting book experiences as we plan a few slices of life.
A street scene of Woodstock, Vermont
My husband sits by the fire of the Woodstock Inn as we wait to eat dinner
My second favorite shop in Woodstock, where I bought our favorite blanket (the bookstore was my favorite)
My daughter sent a text to alert me about a package to arrive shortly as she tracked its movements. She asked me to call when we opened it so that she could give us a few pointers about it (I’ve noticed that the older I get, the more my children have started offering pointers on how to work things).
As we FaceTimed, she watched our excitement when we realized she’d sent us a digital photo frame.
How wonderful! I exclaimed, already thinking of all the photos I would upload and wondering if I would be able to figure it out. It would be nice to see snapshots from our recent week in the Great Smoky Mountains. When I’ve wanted to see those photos, I’ve had to scroll to them on the camera and search – – but a digital frame would keep them rolling and keep us thinking of the family members who mean so much to us!
That’s not just any digital frame, Mom, she explained. That’s a Cozyla interactive frame. If you invite all your kids to upload photos, we can send you pictures anytime and you can see them pop up in real time. You’ll hear a Boo…Boop and it’ll be a notification alerting you that we’re sending you new pictures.
I set it up while she was on FaceTime with me and already have nearly 200 photos in the album. I’m going strong, and I didn’t need as many pointers as she (or I) thought I might. I can’t wait to get my first notification that a new photo has popped up. We’ll be on the lookout for new smiling faces of our grandchildren – – which is like a new gift every day, especially during the holidays with all their excitement. It’s even more so since with four children in four different states, we don’t get to be together in person nearly as often as we’d like.
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
For the first few years of being grandparents, we overdid it a little with Christmas. Let me rephrase that the way my husband would say it happened: for the first few years of being a grandparent, I (me, singular) became Santa with a full sleigh at Christmas. My heart grew too many sizes to contain all the joy, and it flooded the living room in presents for our grandson.
My second, forever, current, and final (in that order, and all the same) husband is still taken aback at times with the flurry of people and number of gifts under the tree at Christmas. He grew up the eldest of three siblings, and the age span took him out into the working world and out of the home while they were still growing up. He was married for a short time, and he and his first wife have one son. If he remembers ripping wrapping paper and other Christmas chaos, those sensory elements of sounds, pitches, and squeals of laughter have evaded him up until he is reminded once again of the reality of noise when he is in the midst of multiple children.
I was married for the first time on this very day forty years ago when it fell on Thanksgiving Day, at 11:00 a.m., before anyone sat down for a turkey dinner as we slipped out on our honeymoon. The best thing to ever come of that marriage that lasted 19 years – other than the lessons learned and my former mother-in-law’s amazing recipe for cranberry orange relish – are three children, their mates, and their seven children, along with the hope of generations to come. The second best thing was that I learned to play a mean hand of euchre, a popular card game played widely up in the northern part of New York State.
By the time my second, forever, current, and final husband and I married, our blended family of four children were practically grown, except for two still finishing high school. They wanted mostly clothes, electronics, and cash for Christmas, and they knew by this time how to sleep late on Christmas morning. Our lives were mostly quiet until grandchildren came along, and suddenly the wonder and surprise of young children returned. And so did all the festivity of Christmas!
When the second grandchild came along, I had to cut back on the Christmas shopping. When the third came, even more. By the time the fourth was born, we needed a system and some ground rules to try to avoid breaking the bank. With the fifth, we tried the first system that worked, but by the sixth it had already changed. With the seventh grandchild’s arrival and plans to retire someday, we think the current system will work but have an alternate plan for retirement when it happens.
So many of my friends ask how we do it, even pre-retirement, with seven grandchildren. And through trial and error over these past 15 years, I’ll spare the journey and share what works for us. It all began when my paternal grandparents used to give each of their grandchildren cash on Thanksgiving Day. My grandfather, who had lived through the Great Depression, served as a pastor, and made his fortune in railroad stock but who had always lived as if he’d had nothing, had kept cash envelopes in his shirt pocket, and as the opportunity presented itself, he’d spent time with each of us to tell us how proud he was of us and to give us Christmas money. As a teenager, it meant the gift went further with the sales – we could pick exactly what we’d wanted from them and could get something better, marked down (the year of the Sony Walkman comes to mind). But as a young parent, that Christmas money was a total game changer. For so many years, that check meant my own children had a visit from Santa. I learned from my paternal grandparents that giving money is not impersonal at Christmas, as many folks may believe. I learned that in the ultimate spirit of giving, sometimes the gift of greenery makes the difference in the way others are able to focus on giving and not merely receiving.
That’s why our adult children get greenery at Christmas, before Black Friday. Cash. I’d been too proud to tell my grandfather all those years ago that it made the difference in my own children’s Christmas, but fast forward to this past week: one of our four said to me what I wish I’d said to my own grandfather – – this makes all the difference, and now Santa can get busy. Because adulting is real, and parenting somehow makes it real-er.
That’s half of the system that works. The other part is in a fun jingle I heard somewhere along the way, and we’ve been using it ever since. We asked our children to create an Amazon list for each of their children, with their first name and the year. In that list, they include a selection of items in these four categories: something they want, something they need, something to wear (in the correct size), and something to read. And from there, we are able to use the list either for the exact item or for an idea of something we shop in person to purchase. I’ve given up on coded gift wrap, too, in a different pattern for each child – – now it’s just one of those glorified plastic bags decorated all in Christmas colors, and the four items go all in the same bag, one for each child on the years we are able to get together in person. On years when the children are with other family members and we FaceTime, the Christmas bags make it easier for the parents to organize the gifts and keep them hidden in their homes until Christmas. On years we are together, it means I’m not up wrapping at all hours of the night.
This system may not work for everyone, but it works for us, and when others try to grasp how we “do” Christmas with seven grandchildren and four children all in four different states from Atlantic to Pacific, I tell them: we have a budget and a system, and we stick to it. It does not take away from the Christmas cheer – – it keeps it in perspective! Most of all, it keeps this Nana from trying to outdo Santa, and that’s important to the real Santa.
If we find that in retirement our jingle needs a trim, I’ve thought ahead to the next system. It may sound something like this as the grandchildren reach their teenage years – something you want, plus something you need that’s either something to wear or something to read…..or greenery. We’ll see what the years bring.
On this Black Friday, happy shopping! May you find the perfect gift for everyone on your list, no matter what your system is, even if your system is no system at all. And may you find parking spaces close to every store if you are an in-person shopper.
…above all
no matter the level
of festivity and chaos and noise
may you find moments of
peace and quiet meditation
keeping the real reason for the season
at the heart
of it all
All of us, except for one grandson who did not make the October trip with us
On this day last year, we were waking up in Plymouth, Massachusetts and heading to Plimoth-Patuxet Museum to have Thanksgiving Dinner in the spot where the Pilgrims and Native Americans had it for the first time all those years ago. It was a highlight of our trip through New England on the heels of the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Convention, which was held in Boston in 2024.
After the end of the conference, when Ada Limon had delivered the final keynote speech, we’d taken the ferry back across Boston Harbor to the airport and rented a car. We headed up to Kennebunkport, Maine for a night, then across New Hampshire to Woodstock, Vermont for a night, then to West Chesterfield, New Hampshire, and finally to Plymouth each for a night before completing the loop back to Boston, turning in the car, and flying home. We still talk about the fun we had on that trip, just the two of us, seeing New England by car.
Yesterday, true to small town living, we were out at our local Ace Hardware Store buying ten bales of pine straw to go by the shrubs in the front bed when we saw Briar’s brother standing in front of the only grocery store in town, holding his bag of heavy whipping cream and a Coca Cola in a bottle and talking with a friend. He ambled over to the car, where we sat reminiscing on the trip we’d taken down Route 66 a few summers ago. Along with his wife, the four of us had rented a car at Midway Airport just below Chicago and embarked on the journey, completing half of Route 66, which runs from Illinois to California, and flying home from Albuquerque after one full week of a carefully-segmented trip that allowed time for taking in the main sights we’d wanted to see.
We need to finish that trip, his brother said, and we both agreed.
This Thanksgiving is different. We were supposed to be camping on our favorite campground in one of our favorite sites, but vertigo got in the way of being able to pack the camper and keep the reservation. It got in the way of shopping and doing anything other than being still all week. We cancelled our camping plans, and I took to my favorite chair with Audible as the great world spun all week. At least when I’m down and out, I can have some sense of normalcy through story – – and travel, vicariously. This week, I’m at the Maple Sugar Inn spending time with the ladies in the Book Club Hotel. They haven’t read a single page in their book club yet, but these characters do have some interesting lives.
I’ll hit pause on my book around 10:00 to shower and dress, and to meet my husband’s brother and his wife at a Cracker Barrel an hour away from our home deep in rural Georgia. None of us felt like cooking – and even the thought of all the bending involved in cooking and baking sends me spinning in orbit. It’s simply not the year for that.
It’s a year for being home and taking it easy – going nowhere that involves a suitcase, letting others cook, and savoring the simple pleasures of home. A day for sitting next to the fire under the flannel blanket we bought last year at The Vermont Flannel Company in Woodstock, all warm and comfortable, counting my blessings. It’s a day to reflect on the week we spent in October in the mountains of Tennessee with our children and grandchildren, and a day to call and wish them a Happy Thanksgiving as they celebrate this day with other family members.
And it’s a day to remember those who are no longer with us. Mom left us in 2015, but this will be our first Thanksgiving without Dad. It’s a game changer when both parents are gone. I miss all those who taught me how to observe holidays and to be able to appreciate them without the rigid anchors of tradition making them feel any less special. Today’s quiet stillness and Cracker Barrel dinner is every bit as meaningful as last year’s dinner in Plymouth.
We started re-thinking the hardscape bed right outside our front door back in August. We fiddled around in Home Depot and Lowe’s, checked out designs shared on social media and websites, and thought of our own needs for a low-maintenance bedding design that will require less care than the one we just pulled out that had been there for 17 years. A Confederate Jasmine was running rampant, taking over the entire brick wall out front and serving as a nesting ground for birds. The one shrub we left was a gardenia bush just because I love the smell wafting by when I sit on the front porch reading in the late summer. I carefully dug up the Giant Elephant Ear bulbs to replant them in pots instead of the ground.
We looked at all different possibilities for a redesign.
I spent a Sunday putting down new landscape fabric to cover the rocks that have been there for 17 years. We will add newer, cleaner rock while letting the first base serve as additional weed killers.
Once we finally decided on the rock we wanted to use, we set off to Lowe’s with the truck and trailer to get two pallets. Little did we know that it would not go as far as we thought it would. Our entire budget for this project covered only a third of the bed. We reconsidered using pine straw for budget purposes, but decided ultimately that the bugs it brings to the foundation (and Copperheads love it, too) was not in line with our original decision, so we went back to the drawing board.
We used the tractor to make the work load lighter. We emptied the bags of rock right into the bucket and used the bucket to hep spread the rock.
Ultimately, we will have a black and white hardscape design with evergreen shrubs in pots, along with several gray hardscape boulders. We like the straight lines rather than the waves, but we are considering a curved line to account for the additional white rock we will have to purchase to make the straight line work.
Chat doesn’t understand that our sidewalk runs in a different direction, but it does understand that we needed to see the concept of the design. We’ve decided on small black polished river rock to finish the bed, and we will work to that end…….meanwhile, we will have to re-vamp the budget and decide when to add the additional features.
For today, we have a half-finished hardscape and high hopes we can get it finished before the landscape fabric blows away!
Chat GPT can make mistakes, it says.
And here’s a blooper to end the day on……just for giggles. Chat GPT has the driveway going completely in the wrong direction and added grass in the hardscape bed. At least it shows us how badly we can goof up if we try hard enough.
Last week, a post by fellow blogger Anita Ferreri gave me an idea: could we possibly use the viral “word of the year” 6-7 to inspire poetry? This random response from students was driving teachers and parents all over the country a little batty at Halloween, when some schools began banning it. Others embraced it and adopted it as a way to dress up, inviting folks to come to school dressed as 6, 7, or 6-7. Our ninth grade academy was one of those schools, and the fun was never more math-y.
All week, I’ve been writing 6-7 poems. Some have six or seven lines, others have six or seven syllables on each line. I haven’t written a concrete poem in the shape of 6-7, but perhaps that will be a challenge for an upcoming snow day.
As I sat in Denver, Colorado last week during an AI Summit, we decided to take a quick walking lap around the building to stretch our legs. One of our colleagues noticed something rolling in the dirt in the empty lot beside our hotel. He stopped in his tracks.
Is that a prairie dog? (I felt a Slice of Life happening…)
Our heads snapped left to get a better look.
Indeed, it was. And once I knew they were there, I couldn’t keep my mind off of them. We keep taking random laps just to bask in their cuteness. My window, not facing the view of the Rockies but facing north toward the Aurora Borealis at night and now these just-discovered prairie dogs, was just the reminder I’d needed to be thankful I hadn’t given in to my first instinct to ask for a room with a better view. The good Lord was working the reasons for this odd room choice far away from the rest of my group. These prairie dogs WERE the view, and, like the Northern Lights, so entertaining to watch. Who needs the Colorado Rockies when there are prairie dogs? It took me back to Amarillo, Texas the morning we were leaving for Cadillac Ranch and I’d have preferred to have stayed and watched the prairie dogs in the vacant lot next to our hotel in that city, much like this deja vu situation.
So today, here is a 6-7 poem about these cute critters.
Colorado Prairie Dogs
took me out of my summit
more playful than AI
popping up here and there
tunnel infrastructure
underground labyrinths
far more captivating
than AI’s mindlessness
Tune in next Tuesday to see where our thinking about the prairie dogs took us during one part of the summit when our minds began drifting……(hint: we rethought the mascot for our new voluntary professional development club that starts in December)!
Just call him Petey…..the squeaky professional development prairie dog
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for providing space and inspiration for teachers to write in community
Mo Daley is our host for today’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write tanka poems to share our traditions. This may be one you’d like to try today, so I’m including her directions below.
Mo writes, “This time of year always gets me thinking about traditions. There are many my family and I look forward to celebrating with each other. I really love hearing about other peoples’ traditions, too. Hayrides, Oktoberfest, pumpkin patches, bonfires, corn mazes, pumpkin carving, and cooking might be some of the traditions that come to mind when you think of fall. Today’s poem is a way for you to flex your poetic muscles while letting all of us learn a little bit more about you and the traditions you observe.”
Mo inspires us with these words: “Write a tanka or series of tankas telling us all about a favorite, or maybe least favorite, fall tradition. A tanka is a traditional Japanese poetic form of 31 syllables over 5 lines. The syllable count is 5/7/5/7/7. Usually there is a turn in the third line. Consider focusing on sensory images to help us feel like we are right there with you. “
You can read Mo’s poem at the Open Write today by clicking here. In my poem below, I feel the need to clarify the spelling of the yellow bear. My first grandson could not say yellow, so when my son suggested they go on a bear hunt on our farm in rural Georgia to find the highly-elusive-never-before-seen yellow bear, my grandson couldn’t stop talking about the lellow bear, and none of us have called it anything different ever since. I still have the picture of them setting out to find it, and it warms my heart to think that one simple moment, one slight of the tongue, became a family tradition that remains to this day.
Traditions Tanka
first, the pumpkin bread
that started when they were kids
I tie the apron
sift the flour, mix in the eggs
add sugar, spices, pumpkin
dominoes thunder
onto great granny’s table
the one I redid
while the bread bakes, we play games
we pair with grandkids
we all walk the farm
looking for the “lellow bear”
every eye stays peeled
lellow bear is elusive
someday, we might catch a glimpse
the coffee pot stays
full of fresh brew to help us
keep up with these kids
Scrabble (turntable version)
for adults, post-kids’-bedtime
togetherness fills my soul
I take a deep breath
they were born last week
now here they are, with their own
tears of gratitude well up
Several years ago ~ from the time of his first bear hunt to early teens The walk that started it all: the first hunt for the elusive lellow bearToday, the hunts continue
Common Threads 