Twelve days ago, this beautiful boy came into my world. Wrapped in the stitches I crocheted for him, he sleeps. While he sleeps, I breathe his newness and want to hold onto that feeling that all is well with the world.
Six days ago my mother, Sam’s great grandmother, died. She slipped out of this world that had been her home into a new one, where we will all be someday. I like to think it’s a better place, a warm welcoming embrace.
I got a phone call message from my aunt, Alabel. She was once married to my mother’s brother, and she has remained a part of our family. Her message said, “I have been so privileged to be a part of your family. I’m glad your mother is now free and happy and seeing Johnny (my father)…I hear you have a new grandchild. That’s how it works, the saints are leaving and the saints are coming.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I am spending some time in New Orleans with my daughters and grandchildren. Soon a new grandson will be here. But in the meantime, I took a walk in the neighborhood. A city walk is different from my small hometown walk, so I took some pictures to set the scene. (Don’t forget to add 80+ temps and 60% humidity to your imagination.)
We took grandson Thomas to City Park and walked around the gardens.
Thomas, 5, looks for turtles in the pond. Turtles, turtles…all around…City Park stone bridge
My One Little Word for 2025 is Still. Even in the midst of city traffic and busyness, a moment of stillness can be found.
City Park Haiku
Turtles sun-basking While heat rises from old stone Bridges to stillness
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid” John 14:27
When Ramona suggested that we write about “summering” for our Spiritual Journey posts this month, I turned to two passages that bring me peace. Too often, I have a long “to do” list for summer that usually includes cleaning out closets and such dreaded chores. These kinds of chores are good for me but are not what I want to do. I’d rather have lunch with friends, go on long walks, and binge watch a show or two.
The poem “Wild Geese” from Mary Oliver reminds me that all I should do is love what I love and let the wild geese call to me. On these early June days, it’s not wild geese, but buzzing cicadas that call to me. The heat of midday sends me inside for a glass of La Croix with ice. I am settling into a routine and trying hard not to pressure myself to do more.
In May, I was inspired by Georgia Heard’s calendar of prompts for small poems. In June, her newsletter held an invitation to porch poems. You can sign up to receive Heart Beats on her website. Porch poem #3 asked “What happens in stillness?” Here is my poem response.
I am finishing up a week of babysitting for two of my grandchildren this week. One of them, June, I kept during the day because daycare was closed. The other, Thomas, I kept after his day camp because his mother had a work trip.
This morning when I was dropping Thomas off for the last time, we had a talk about missing people we love. He started the conversation with “I miss my dad,” which could be viewed as a manipulative ploy for attention, but I didn’t take the bait. I said how much I would be missing him when I go back home.
He said, “Do you miss Papére?”
“Of course, I do. I miss Papére and Albért when I’m here with you, but I miss you and June when I’m home.”
Loving means you’re always missing someone. A conversation with a 5 year old brought me to tears.
This month I have been writing a poem each day using Georgia Heard’s May calendar. The prompt for today was “your favorite kind of silence.” The shadorma form fit nicely with the syllable count of 3, 5, 3, 3, 7, 5.
My Favorite Kind of Silence
Silence comes after summer rain before birds recall sun after a sung lullaby a sleepy child’s sigh
“A world of grief and pain, flowers bloom—even then.” -Kobayashi Issa
Carol’s husband died recently and as she navigates her grief, I am pleased that she still wants to be involved in the wider world of blogging. I love the quote she offered by Issa. I received Georgia Heard’s newsletter in which she invites us to write small. Writing that is small can carry a large load or it can capture a small moment. Here’s Georgia’s May calendar of invitations.
Gardenia power scents the whole kitchen with breaths of grandma’s perfume
Flowers have brightened my daily walks this spring. With the sun rising by the time I head out with Albert, I’ve had more light to walk in. Sunrises, too, delight me. A spiritual journey is a daily practice of presence.
I invite you to write #poemsofpresence this month. I will post daily on Instagram. I will also give myself grace if I miss a day or two. May is about keeping myself grounded as the whirling ending of school presses upon me.
This desert rose thrives at my front door. Another blossoming welcoming spring.
I’ve been writing this month with Ethical ELA’s #Verselove. On Sunday, Susan Ahlbrand led us in a prompt called “Lingering Lines.” We could choose a song from a musical to use as inspiration. One of my favorite musicals is Waitress by Sarah Bareilles, and my favorite song is You Matter to Me. Try to listen to it without crying. I can’t.
My grandson, Thomas (5.5)
This weekend my daughter was visiting with her son, Thomas, who is now 5 and a half. How time flies! He is the sweetest boy with an active imagination and crystal blue eyes. He loves me without condition which warms my mamére heart. I borrowed the song lyric and wrote a short poem for Thomas.
You Matter to Me
I find sea glass treasure in your eyes. You look in my heart as a mirror and smile for the picture frame. You matter to me.
I sing a lullaby love song and you think I’m magical. You say “I love you” like they’re the easiest words to say.
I know your love is true innocence of a 5 year old simple and free, no baggage or judgement. You see You matter to me.
Margaret Simon, draft
Kidlit Progressive Poem Update: Patricia had a family emergency, so Rose is taking her line today (at Imagine the Possibilities). That is one thing I love about this community. We can lean on each other.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
In my book Bayou Song: Creative Explorations of the Southern Louisiana Landscape , I have a Things to Do poem about the alligator snapping turtle. You can see the poem and poem prompt here. On Friday, I was looking at the Barred Owl Cam from All about Birds with a young poetry student. We wrote Things to Do poems. From Ethical ELA, Tammi Belko suggested using random words to write a poem. This prompt fit well with our Things to Do poems. We looked at AI generated words about barred owlets and made a list of words to use in our poems.
On Saturday #Verselove, the prompt came from Jordan Stamper. She asked us to think about food memories. What she didn’t know was that very morning I was making a food memory with my grandson Thomas.
Banana Bread (first line from Billy Collins)
I love the sound of a grandson in the morning finding the muffin tins and demanding to bake with me.
We gather flour, sugar, butter, eggs– Stir the dry. Whisk the wet. Smash dappled sweet bananas.
“When will the banana bread be ready? he whines, melting my heart with his crystal blue eyes. Goodness takes time to rise.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
As the 3 year anniversary of my father’s death approaches, I’m in a different place. A space of love and acceptance, appreciation rather than deep loss. Grief takes time. It changes but never fully leaves you.
For some reason that I can’t ask him, my father had a little plastic Yoda on the shelf in his bathroom. It was obviously something he wanted to see every day. I took it home with me and it lives in my closet alongside my mother’s jewelry box. I wrote a poem about it.
“Do or do not”
Wisdom of Small Things
I’m a collector of small things: A miniature Yoda from my father’s bathroom shelf reminds me, “Do or do not. There is no try. “
Try as I might to let Dad go, I still want him here to guide me.
My father once told me I could only do what I could do. I remind myself everyday to leave my students’ problems at school.
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 having children, I never really considered the future and what it might mean for me to be a grandmother. I had three girls. Three daughters who grew into three amazing women. And now I am Mamére to four grands and another one on the way. My youngest daughter is pregnant with her 2nd child. She has a 2 year old, June, and this one is a boy due in July. We’ve had fun calling him “July.”
Pregnancy is not an easy time. There are so many changes happening in a woman’s body. After an earlier miscarriage, Martha was full of fear. I was confident, but I understood her fears. She invited me to the 20 week anatomy scan ultrasound. I sat in awe at the image on the screen…a perfect baby.
Here is my love letter to this new baby boy:
July
I already love all four chambers of your heart, steadily beating showing off for the camera. And those little toe nubs that I can’t wait to tickle. We could see the perfect stairs of your spine curled, floating up in the certain space of womb. I fell head over heals for your tiny nose, the deep eye sockets, the thing that tells us you are boy.
I can wait as you grow and grow, coming to us on a hot mid-July morning wailing for more time inside. It’s OK, my grandboy, I love you already. Margaret Simon, draft
On Sunday I read Maria Popover’s The Marginalian. She wrote about matrescence: “While mothering can take many forms and can be done by many different kinds of people, the process of one organism generating another from the raw materials of its own being — a process known as matrescence — is as invariable as breathing, as inevitable to life as death.”
In Matrescence: On Pregnancy, Childbirth, and Motherhood, Lucy Jones writes of her own experience giving birth to a girl. “Time started to bend. I was carrying the future inside me. I would learn that I was also carrying the eggs, already within my baby’s womb, that could go on to partly form my potential grandchildren. My future grandchildren were in some way inside me, just as part of me spent time in the womb of my grandmother.”
I am grateful to be a grandmother, the seed from which my grandchildren sprouted. Honored by my daughters to be beside them as they do their best to be strong women who mother with wisdom and care.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I’ve crocheted for years, so this year I decided to try to make a garment. I’ve made baby blankets, shawls, and hats, but when I saw a pattern for a baby sweater using two hexagons, I thought this will be easy enough.
We were taking a driving trip with our family to Oklahoma right after Christmas, and I wanted a project to do on the drive and while relaxing at the house. I picked out three colors from my inherited boxes of yarn from my friend Marion who died in 2020. My daughter Maggie, the mother of Stella, said of the three colors, “Stella will wear that.”
I crocheted and crocheted until I realized that it was way too big. The first hexagon would almost fit me! I had not accounted for the gauge of the yarn. I was just following the pattern.
Rather than lose the project all together, I decided to rip out the extra rows to make it fit. Then I spent a while making the other side.
Finally it was ready to block.
Two hexagon crocheted sweater blocked on the ironing board ready for steaming.
I brought it to Stella one afternoon when we were visiting. Stella has her own unique sense of fashion. Her preference is to wear leggings in one pattern and a top in another pattern. Sometimes she wears a dress as a skirt or a costume. Her favorites are skeleton, ninja mask, and Elsa nightgown.
Stella ready to go the art show (pj top, dress as skirt, and Elsa wig)
When Stella first saw the sweater, she said, “Nobody anywhere ever has worn a short sleeved sweater.”
My daughter Maggie explained to her that I had made it specially for her. She eventually came around and posed for a picture in her new sweater. Her dad sent me this picture.
Stella fashion: Hexagon sweater over Christmas pj top and Mardi Gras pants
Currently I am looking at a pattern for a summer sundress. Do I dare?
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 