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Archive for the ‘Gratitude’ Category

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Three years ago when my grandson Thomas (Tuffy) was 3 years old, he liked to play a game with me, What’s That Sound? He would make an animal sound, “meow”, and say “What’s that sound? Is it a cow? No! It’s a cat.”

Thomas at age 3

In the middle of the night, I woke up saying to myself “What’s that sound? I ask Mamére. What’s that sound, up in the air?”

I responded to the voice in my head and wrote a short verse that became the draft for a baby board book. I pitched it to UL Press, and they decided to take it on as their very first board book.

My friend and fellow picture book writer Gayle Webre had found illustrator Drew Beech through SCBWI (Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators). I contacted Drew, and she took on the project. I couldn’t be happier with her illustrations. I sent her photos of the characters, me, my grandson, my husband, a neighbor who was nanny to my other grandchildren, and my own mother.

My mother with Maggie, 1986

I’m sad that my mother is not here to see the book. The photo I had of her was with my oldest daughter sitting in a chair hammock.

On the last spread, Drew created a family crawfish boil. That was a complete surprise to me, a happy surprise.

From What’s That Sound? Birds of the Bayou

In the fall, I had the chance to hold the dummy copy in my hands. It was like someone handing me a new baby. I cried.

I realize through this process, often long and frustrating, that every picture book you hold in your hands is a labor of love. All of my love is poured into What’s That Sound?

(Book Release Event: Friday, March 27th at The Roy House on UL’s campus from 4:30-6:00 PM.)

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

On my morning walk, I stopped to talk to a new-to-me neighbor. She’s lived in her house for a long time, but my route recently changed. I met her, but she already knows a good bit about me. (Small town)

We talked about my new board book (coming Tuesday), her new great granddaughter she wants a signed copy for, sound frequency healing, and gardens. She told me, “Did you know that the sound of the birds singing in the morning actually makes the plants open up and grow?”

As I continued my walk, I turned off my book on tape and turned on the Merlin app amazed by the number of birds around me. I spoke a poem into my notes app.

The Dawn Chorus

The songs of the birds wake my winter mind:
sparrow, wren,
small and mighty
in their announcement of spring.
A tickle of rain,
a wave from morning fleabane
Two turtles bobbing on a log
Stamens seem to say,
“Welcome! Welcome to this day!”

Margaret Simon, draft

Fleabane

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Karen Edmisten.

I did not do my own assignment. I kept putting it off with excuse after excuse. This month I posed what I thought would be a simple, easy challenge for my Inklings writing group, “Write a poem using the word becoming.”

I searched my notebook, my Google Docs, and no miracle there. I simply had not written to my own prompt. Last night I decided to take inspiration from fellow Inkling Linda Mitchell and write a haiku sonnet. (She had shared hers at our meeting last weekend.) Form does not always become a poem.

Is it cheating to use a repeating line? After playing with the title “Becoming Spring”, I wrote the title “Becoming Beautiful”. Almost daily, my youngest daughter sends new photos of my newest grandson. Yesterday she sent this one with the text, “Someone had a cute spurt today.” We all marvel at how this baby just gets more and more adorable.

“Cute spurt”

Nevertheless, here is my down-to-the-wire draft of a haiku sonnet for this cutie.

Becoming Beautiful

You are born with it
in the deep blue of the sea
you glisten like gems

You are born with it
eventually you smile
at your mother’s stare

You are born with it
shine like the full blood moon
a friend to the sun

You are born with it
because that is who you are
someone’s true love

No need to apologize
Be beautiful as you are

Margaret Simon, for Sam, draft

Check out the brilliant ways Inklings responded to this prompt:

Mary Lee @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Catherine @ Reading to the Core

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Poetry Friday is hosting today by Susan at Chicken Spaghetti.

Susan Thomsen posted a prompt from David Lehman to use the last line of Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself as a first line to a new poem. I have my grandchildren spending the night, and we read a silly scary story called The Dark Night. I went back to a New Year’s prompt from Pádraig Ó Tuama for a pantoum about the night.

The Dark Night
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Footsteps clonking on wooden stairs—
Womblike whoosh of your sound machine,
Your shadow shape shifts in the low light.

Footsteps tender on wooden stairs.
Owl “who-cooks-for-you” wakes;
its shadow shape shifts in this low light.
Time stands still.

Owl hoots who-cooks-for-you
as I breathe your scent before you’re here.
Time stands still.
Will my love be good enough?

I breathe your sleeping scent.
Womblike whooshes from your sound machine.
Will my loving arms be enough?
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

(Free stock image)

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

“Did you kiss?” Seven-year old Leo asked when I said we went dancing.

“No, we danced.”

“But did you kiss?”

“Not while we were dancing, but we can now.” Jeff walked over to me and kissed me.

Leo stopped asking.

What does he know of love? A long love?

On Monday, my daughter asked me to babysit Leo and Stella because they were not feeling well. When I arrived, Leo was set up on the sofa with a blanket, a stuffie, and a bucket, but it wasn’t long until they both perked up and were ready to craft Valentines.

Leo wrote (unprompted by me) in his journal:

Leo’s journal page

Their energy increased, so we took the bikes out to the park nearby. I wrote this poem for Laura Shovan’s February project. Our theme this year is mysteries and the topic was secrets. I decided to ask Leo if he had any secrets.

True story

I asked him if he had a secret
while he shimmied down the fireman’s pole.
I love Abby he said.
Does she know?
I helped him write the Valentine
and tuck it in an envelope.
When his mother saw it, she said “How sweet! I’ll put it in the mail.”
Who is Abby?
I imagined a girl on the school playground running from my grandson’s chase.
Oh, don’t be silly.
He loves Abby, the dog.

Margaret Simon, draft

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The gathering of Spiritual Thursday posts can be found with Bob here.

What song is playing in your head today? I find if I take a minute to sit in silence, there is always a song playing in my mind. I wonder if this is true for everyone.

When I check the song in my head, I can usually feel its connection to my attitude. I’ve been with my grandson for a few days, and he has favorites from my repertoire. When he brushes his teeth, I have to sing the Raffi song, “When you wake up in the morning and it’s quarter to one. You think you’ll have a little fun, you brush your teeth, Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch.” When I tuck him into bed, I sing the lullaby “Tell me why.”

I love these songs, but my ear worm this morning comes from the hymns I sang in the choir loft on Sunday.

“Blest are They”

“Rejoice and be glad!

Blessed are you!
Holy are you.

Rejoice and be glad,
yours is the kingdom of God.”

https://youtu.be/chqY9S1Lm2w?si=RQgDRiA6qkZdFlCP

A simple tune, a sacred message, not bad for a wake up call in the morning.

What songs become the background playlist for your life? Are they joyful?

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

I’m sitting at my daughter’s desk in New Orleans. She is on a work trip, and I’ve gotten her son Thomas to school. He’s in kindergarten. Our morning went so smoothly that I am questioning myself. I have rechecked her list, and we did everything. Nevertheless I’m worried.

Thomas has been struggling lately. The classroom environment overwhelms him, and he has meltdowns. My daughter is doing all the things. I am really proud of the way she is taking charge of the situation and working hard toward a solution. As an educator, though, I wish I could be a fly on the wall in his classroom to see the whole picture. As a grandparent, all I want in the world is for him to be happy.

At my daughter’s desk this morning, I read Kim Johnson’s SOL post about falling in love with ordinary things. Thanks, Kim, for the nudge to write a poem inspired by Georgia Heard’s February newsletter.

I’m sitting at my daughter’s work desk
falling in love with the winter slant
of sunlight
and the small pink framed photo of her
as a wild child, holding Pongo, the rat terrier.

Her smile is wide and open,
blonde hair flustered by the wind.
Is there a stain of chocolate on her chin?

Her wide smile,
that joie de vivre, is living
in her six-year old son today.

Margaret Simon, draft

Katherine with Pongo

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Last week when I wrote about my one little word for 2026, I was teetering between sacred and simplicity, and someone wrote in the comments “sacred simplicity”. Of course!

Often the two walk hand in hand, sacred and simplicity.

On Sunday we said goodbye to our church choir director. Leon has been with us for more than 12 years. This past year he decided to get confirmed into the Episcopal church. I thought that meant he would stay; however, a chance to travel to California for 6 months changed his life trajectory. Sunday was his last Sunday as our director. I shed many tears between hymns and our anthem, trying to stay strong when it mattered.

After the closing hymn, our priest asked Leon to come down from the loft. She directed us to gather around him for a blessing, each placing a hand on him or on someone near him. It was a truly magical moment of grace, shared community, and love.

A circle of sacred simplicity to bless Leon.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

A few months ago, I wrote a post “For the trees” about a nearby empty lot that was sold, and the new owners took out a few of the trees. Well, now, they’ve completely blocked the space as they build their new house.

This weekend when we had the grandkids, I accepted an invitation from a neighbor to walk to her grove of oak trees. She lives on the highway, but as long as we stayed in the yards along the way, I felt it was safe to walk over.

Leo and Alden next to the oldest oak in New Iberia, The Sylvia Oak, named for Beanie’s aunt who once lived on the property.

Her grove became a new forest of wonder. Leo climbed and explored. Along with my neighbor’s 5 year old grandson Alden, he found an old dock with fishing nets tethered to it. The boys tossed those nets in and drug them out over and over again until Alden pointed out that the fish might be getting wise to them because the nets were moving.

Throwing seed to the ducks on the bayou.

Miss Beanie brought out some bird seed for Stella to spread along the bayou banks. A flock of ducks came by, but the boys quickly frightened them by throwing sticks into the water.

Albert (my doodle-dog) and I enjoyed watching their antics and adventures. Every once in a while, a gasp caught in my throat as I considered the dangers. Luckily all was well and they came home safely with only a little bleeding.

Beanie’s yard along the bayou holds the oldest tree in New Iberia. She told the kids it was 450 years old. She showed them how it was struck by lightning and had been held together by thick wires. Those wires have now become embedded into the tree. The kids especially liked her tale about the elephant skin of the tree. “See the elephant’s eye and its trunk?”

Tree climbing!

The new forest is a place we will visit again and again. I am grateful to Beanie for offering the space for us to explore.

Leo’s notebook writing about our adventures.

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The Earth Snake by Leo LeBlanc

Yesterday was a full day of being Mamére with Leo, 7, and Stella, 5. We went on a walk in our neighborhood. There is a vacant lot where a new house will be built soon. They had done some dirt work, so there was a mountain of dirt. In the mud, Albert, my dog, had sniffed out a small snake, thankfully dead.

Being Mamére, I allowed Leo to carry the snake home. He gave it a bath and wanted to show everyone. When I brought them home, he opened his gift from my sister-in-law who came with me specifically to see the kids open their gifts from her.

He opened a huge set of paint markers and a new art tablet and immediately drew this illustration. He also wrote this story.

Leo’s writing, age 7 (1st grade)

Of course, he made this writer grandmother proud. Today, I am pulling from his writing a small poem. The elfchen form includes 1 word topic, 2 words, what topic does, 3 words, where or how, 4 words, what do you mean, and 1 word, outcome.

Snake
Lay dead
dug from earth
a young boy’s buried
treasure

Margaret Simon, draft

Please join me today in writing a small ekphrastic poem. Have a wonderful holiday! Thanks for being a dedicated reader and writer.

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