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“Welcome to Breaux Bridge”
Happy Mardi Gras, y’all! Today is Fat Tuesday, celebrated with parades and food and fun, the last day before Lent arrives, and we enter a season of penance and fasting. I decided to skip the New Orleans festivities this year and enjoy a quiet Mardi Gras; however, yesterday, my daughter invited me to go with her and her two children, Leo and Stella, to an event in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana.
A few years ago I attended the “Courir de Mardi Gras” with my family in Eunice, Louisiana. I had some trouble with the drunken parade and abuse of chickens. This event in Breaux Bridge changed my view somewhat. It was specifically for the children, so the adults were drinking coffee and water and handing out snacks to their children. There was a chicken involved, but we were assured that the chicken was tame and would not be injured.
Traditional Courir de Mardi Gras mask made from home crafted materials.
The costumes were fabulous and fun!
Children ready for the run!
The history of the courir, which in Cajun French means run, dates back to before Louisiana became a part of the U.S., from a time when the Acadians came to Louisiana without much of anything but a promise of land. The small communities would celebrate Mardi Gras by having a chicken run. The idea was to go house to house to get all the ingredients for the gumbo. The gumbo would be shared by the community.
The Teche Center for the Arts recreated the courir specifically for children. El Capitaine, the leader, assigned the children to groups. It was a wild chase, for sure, but it was quick and usually ended with at least one child crying about being knocked in the head or not catching the chicken or, in Stella’s case, losing a shoe. We paraded house to house and shared in the tradition. This was more my style, watching the children, carrying their catches, and taking lots of photos and video.
I am posting on my phone because I’m having trouble connecting in a hotel room. I’m visiting my mother who is in the end stages of Alzheimer’s. This time is filled with hard and love, tears and joy.
Heidi challenged the Inklings this first Friday to choose a prompt from her Yule calendar. Since I spent last week in the company of my grandchildren, I was drawn to the prompt “Capture the sound of laughter in rhyme.”
I am taking delight in watching my grandchildren laugh. This poem is dedicated to my granddaughter, June, who was two on Dec. 21st.
De-Light
I taste a note of nutmeg on my tongue, a slight burn while I yearn for sweetness, and your song
“Happy Day Day”
your two-ness of delight candles to blow ribbons flow
twisting into this gift of a child shifting,
becoming laughter.
Margaret Simon, draft
June is Two!
To see how other Inklings wrote to this challenge:
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
When I was 12 years old, all I wanted in this world was long hair. My hair was shoulder length with an uncontrollable wave right near my earlobe. But I could not grow long, luscious locks like other girls. So I asked my mother (Santa) for a wig. On Christmas Day, my wish came true. I remember wearing that long blond wig and being humiliated by comments from other kids. Shamed, disappointed, dreams dashed, I never wore the wig again.
Yesterday my now 4 year old granddaughter got an Elsa wig for her birthday. Oh, how Stella longs for long hair. My daughter tells me she wears her swimming cap with the fabric along the sides to pretend to have long hair, so the Elsa wig was an immediate hit. Stella didn’t wear it for long, but not because she was bullied about it. It just wasn’t practical for playing on the park’s ultimate tree house; you can’t roll around on a net without your hair falling off. I wish I could have been more like Stella when I was young.
Elsa “Stella”
I look at her boldness, her wild clothing choices, and her undying spirit of I’m-always-right, and feel hope for this new generation of girls. I hope we continue to raise girls who, like Stella, do what they want and stand up for what they believe in.
At the birthday party, my daughter was dressed like Stella requested, in two different animal prints. She looked amazing. Life is far from perfect these days, but watching my fierce daughter raise an equally fierce daughter gives me hope and delectation.* (Word of the day meaning a feeling of delight or enjoyment.)
At the party, I held the 4 month old daughter of one of my daughter’s friends. This poem came to me after reading the meaning of the word delectation.
Delectation Holding the baby small as a doll seeing through her eyes to the Aegean sea
feeling the weight of her sink into my arms wondering what kind of world we are creating for her.
She smiles anyway, grabs at the print of my shirt rooting toward my breast (a let-down tingles) and I relax, trusting
Last weekend I took my grandchildren to the Main Street library to do Christmas crafts. They enjoyed playing around the fountain. They were full of questions: Can you swim in there? Can I touch the water? Leo genuflected with the water, a move he apparently saw Spider-Man do.
I took this photo, marveling at how the drops of water seemed to dance in the wind.
I offer this photo as inspiration for your writing today. Do you have memories that may emerge? Can you write a small poem or haiku describing what you see? Anything is possible in poetry.
I’ve been writing Advent elfchen. Today’s poem sticks with this form.
Fountain Dances along While children play Splashes of joyful laughter Bubbler
My students and I are reading Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse. In the book, there is a poem “On the Road with Arley” that begins with line “Here’s the way I figure it, my place in the world is at the piano.” It’s been fun to find music of the time period and write alongside it. My students worked hard to create poems using this beginning line. I asked them to use imagery to create a tone. I wrote a model poem about my place in the world.
In a Canoe
Here’s the way I figure it, my place in the world is on the bayou lazing about in a canoe with you.
I’m just a mamere wanting the best time to be outside watching for eagles slipping through slow current listening for Mr. Owl to cook-cook-for-you!
My place is in open toes among cypress knees sniffing catfish air hearing cicadas buzz when the sun goes down.
Here’s the way I figure it, my place in the world is in a canoe with you.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem.
This last Friday of September, the Poetry Sisters called out a challenge based on Wallace Steven’s Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. I enjoy puzzling together ideas into poem forms. In the model poem, Stevens uses few words in each stanza to convey a single emotion or thought.
I became intrigued by the idea of looking at grandchildren, not a single one, but the idea of having a grandchild. I have three daughters, and have been blessed with 4 grandchildren, ranging in age from 5+ years to 21 months. Each of my daughters have had at least one miscarriage.
To write this poem, I started using sticky notes, I carried the collection around for a few days. It worked well for separating each one and arranging them into some logical order. Thanks to my Inklings’ honest feedback, I am ready to publish this poem here, but I’m not leaving it. I want to feel that it will grow as my grands grow and reveal more to me about this amazing journey in grandparenting.
Ways of Looking at a Grandchild
I. Grandmother Mother Daughter 3 in 1 1 in 3 Egg to egg to egg
II. Cut the cord connection broken New bond forever woken.
III. Cells divide. Divide again. Sometimes there is no heartbeat.
IV. The way a mother looks at her child with purest adoration– A bloom of a flower planted long ago.
V. Golden curls, crystal blue eyes– Precious gems to hold.
VI. Hand sign three fingers I Love You
VII. One day she’s Ariel another Anna, Batman, Spiderman— always a fierce girl wonder.
VIII. Whose eyes are these? I think I know. I’ve seen them from a portrait glow.
IX. Whispers at bedtime “Sing me the song you sing” A grandmother’s lullaby.
X. Curve our bodies together and turn pages of a book, We enter a magical place.
Today is a dual post for Spiritual Journey and Poetry Friday. Ruth Ayres is our host for the Spiritual Thursday link up here. Heidi Mordhorst has the Poetry Friday gathering here.
Ruth chose the topic of “wholeheartedly” for Spiritual Thursday. When I looked up the meaning of wholeheartedly, I read “with complete sincerity and commitment.”
Due to the invasion of Hurricane Francine, I wholeheartedly jumped into protection mode. My daughter sheltered at our house with her two littles, Leo (5.5) and Stella (3.5). Combine that toddler energy with a 6 month old puppy and you get an equation of full on energy. We baked, we colored (Albert ate a few crayons), we read, watched a fun Disney movie “Brave”, and played and played and played. My daughter said to me as they took all the plastic containers out of the cabinet, “They never get bored.”
My teacher heart was happy when Leo wanted to write a book. We folded a zine, and he wrote and drew. It was fun so see him making the connection between letters and sounds and words. His first page read “Mat is soopr hro.” He couldn’t stop laughing when he decided that Mat would sit on a pear. I loved seeing his face shine with pride.
I’m happy to report that Francine came through with little fanfare here in the arch of the boot, New Iberia. She skirted by to the east and only dumped rain and some leaves and branches. My grandchildren have learned about earning cash for chores, so they happily helped pick up sticks (a penny a stick) and swept cypress needles off the deck.
This post is neither very spiritual or poetic, but I felt I should post something. There’s a reason I didn’t write much while my children still lived in our home. I am wholeheartedly a mother and now a grandmother. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Leo and Stella show pride in their baked banana bread.
Visits with my mother are hard on me. I don’t live near enough to get used to her Alzheimer’s silence, the confused look in her eyes. I keep thinking one of these days I will accept this. But it seems so unfair. She was such a vibrant and thoughtful person. She is safe and happy and generally in good health, so I convince myself I should feel gratitude. Despair and grief take over. I can’t even look at this photo without tears welling up.
At Ethical ELA, we were prompted by Katrina to write about a photograph. I chose the one above.
We see a child delighted to hug his great grandmother generations of love passed on with a kiss on top of his head.
We don’t see the grief seeping into the moment the loss of a mother whose memories fleet past through empty eyes always questioning.
Day two of the Kidlit Progressive Poem is with Jone today.
This National Poetry Month, I am writing word poems using random words that come into my life.
I’m taking care of my 4 year old grandson while his mother is on a work trip. Today’s elfchen is playing with the word shambles.
Shambles Elfchen
Shambles of toys on Mamere’s floor a kingdom of pretend Lightstep
Margaret Simon, draft NPM 24
I’m also following Ethical ELA prompts. Today’s prompt “The Magic Box” was an interesting practice in synectics, combining words together that normally would not be connected. The intent was to release some of the insecurity in writing, loosen our muscles so to speak.
Whistle While you Walk
Wisteria hangs like lavender bubbles marching across the dog-ditch. Like a child, blossoms whisper, “I exist to please you.”
We are all monster trucks traveling through construction, a long and dusty road.
Take me on a spring walk, blow a dandelion–a train whistle to the wild world.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 